


The Northern Crown

by Vesalius



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Character Deaths, Clarke Lives, Eventual Smut, F/F, Post Season 2, Post-Canon, and Lexa lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesalius/pseuds/Vesalius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set Post-Season 2. Initially prospective for S3 (but will obviously be deviating heavily from canon - thankfully).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanheda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Biggest thanks to crazywisdom (denchlikejudi.tumblr.com) for being the best aubergine ever (and for being a pretty swell beta reader too)! xoxo

Emerson was technically alive, but he was the closest he’d ever been to death. That was even counting the time he’d nearly been irradiated. These pains were new to him—the unfamiliar knot of hunger in his stomach, the blisters on his feet so deep that blood was soaking his socks, the unbearable ache in his shoulders from having his hands bound tightly behind his back for two weeks.

A lone grounder had found Emerson in the woods and captured him easily. His bullets had been wasted attempting to pass through the forest undetected. He’d used up his ammunition on minor threats, so when he finally crossed _real_ danger, the weapon he carried to actually protect himself was useless.

Before, he’d always been able to return home to Mount Weather to restock his ammunition, but the supplies had been cleared out in the first few days after the battle. His former home was under occupation by the enemy. He was vulnerable and stood no chance against the much larger and far stronger grounder who’d taken him captive. Emerson said everything he needed to stay alive at the moment, but after two weeks of being led through a massive quarry with no end in sight, he began to question his decision.

The bearded grounder fed Emerson only enough to keep him alive. During the cold nights, he made Emerson sleep on bare rock, exposed to the freezing air instead of offering him one of his many furs. By day, the grounder set a furious pace to his destination. The sun rose to their right, and it set to their left. By Emerson’s crude reckoning, they were headed north.

There were grounder clans in the north, Emerson knew. At Mount Weather, they’d gathered years of reconnaissance from the villages around the mountain. Conversations about the northerners were always fearful. They were more violent and less accepting of outsiders due to their isolation.

In hindsight, Emerson might have done better to just let the grounder kill him when he had the opportunity.

The quarry gave way to snow covered grasslands and patchy forests, and as they passed over a hill, their destination became readily apparent. A wrecked space station sat at the center of a sprawling city, obviously having fallen from the sky some years ago. There were young evergreen trees growing from the cracks in its body, though the surrounding village itself was newer than the settlement in Tondc.

Emerson was tugged through the thick layer of snow in the city by the rope circling his neck, receiving both puzzled and alarmed looks from its inhabitants. He and his captor headed for the space station’s entrance, where a collection of equally fierce grounders stood guard with matching white furs draped over their shoulders.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Roan,” one of them warned, though not at all harshly. There was unmistakable familiarity between this group and Emerson’s captor, as if they’d all been close friends at one point.

“I’ve come to make an offering to the queen,” Roan explained, gesturing to Emerson’s feeble form behind him.

The guards didn’t seem impressed, which wasn’t shocking. Emerson had both eyes blackened (courtesy of Roan’s fists) and was bloodied and emaciated from his unfortunate attempt to flee Mount Weather through the woods. He certainly didn’t look like an asset; he looked more like pauna bait.

“You’ve been banished,” the same guard said. “A banishment from the queen is for life.”

Surprisingly, Roan smirked at the challenge. “The queen may yet change her mind. I think my fortunes are about to change,” he said.

There was an awkward pause, where each of the guard members glanced at each other uneasily. They were hesitant to openly defy the orders from their queen, which bore the penalty of death, yet Roan was their friend and former comrade. A couple of uneasy nods passed between them, after which the lone woman from the group stepped forward. She glowered at Emerson before looking back to her friend.

“If you want to see the queen, I’ll need your weapons,” she told him.

One by one, Roan handed over every knife and dagger attached to his belt and harness. There were more than Emerson originally imagined—and far more than necessary—but the woman taking them didn’t seem surprised by this at all. She laid the handful of weapons by the metal doorway, and with a forceful yank of Emerson’s leash, Roan followed her into the space station. The dark corridors were lit only by the tiny windows in the hull until they reached a large, open area lit by torches. The former command center, if Emerson wasn’t mistaken. The electronics were no longer functional but had instead been transformed into an extravagant throne room.

An imposing woman sat atop the throne, glancing over a hand drawn map. Her hair was a coarse dark brown and twisted back into a single loose braid. She must have heard her visitors enter, but she resisted looking up on principle.

“My queen, I apologize for the interruption—”

“You must never apologize, Echo,” the queen’s voice resonated in the spacious room, but she still refused to glance up from her map. “It conveys weakness. You must never appear weak around your enemies. They must fear you—only then will they respect you.”

“I’m sor—” Echo stopped suddenly, realizing she nearly transgressed again. “There is someone who would like to speak with you,” she said instead.

Only after the invitation did the queen’s head rise to look upon her visitors. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise at the sight of them, but after a moment her glare turned deadly.

“Roan,” the queen growled. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen the next time you showed your face in the Ice Nation again?”

Roan didn’t reply, but he met her eyes with an unflinching stare.

The queen motioned to Echo. “Kill him,” she said.

Echo was an old friend of Roan’s but even she wouldn’t dare defy a direct order from the queen in her presence. They would both die if she did. Echo gave him an apologetic look and reached for the sword at her waist. Echo was far too skilled a fighter for Roan to escape without a weapon of his own.

“I’ve come to make a peace offering,” Roan blurted loudly. He originally planned to introduce his deal more elegantly, but under the threat of execution, his delivery had to be expedited.

“I don’t accept,” the queen said.

“Would you really condemn your own brother to death?”

“I have no use for warriors who don’t follow my commands, blood relation or not,” the queen shot back. “If you can’t even abide by the terms of your banishment, you’ve proven you can’t be trusted to act in the best interests of my people.”

“Nia, please,” Roan pleaded. “You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

The queen narrowed her eyes at him. “What could you _possibly_ have to offer that would make you think you were welcome here again?”

Roan yanked at the length of rope in his hand, and Emerson toppled forward into a heap at his feet. The Ice Nation queen turned her nose up at the sight of him. With his grizzled, unkempt beard, and his tattered and muddy clothing, he looked more like a peasant than a prize. The rope burns on his wrists and his neck did him no favors either. He was a broken man, devoid of any of the pride that had once fueled his entire race. His people had been exterminated, and he was now powerless.

“He is one of the Maunon,” Roan explained. “His expertise would be of great use to you.”

Unseen by either Nia or Roan, Echo clenched her jaw behind them. Emerson wouldn’t remember her out of the hundreds of grounders he’d imprisoned at the mountain, but she’d met him before.

The queen was aware that Echo had spent two months in the Maunon’s captivity, yet that was the extent of her knowledge. Everyone knew what the mountain men did to those they captured. Those who weren’t turned into animals were bled dry, and as Echo returned after the mountain fell with her wits intact, it was obvious to everyone which punishment she’d endured.

Nia stared down the length of her nose at the pathetic form below her, like he was an insect she was deciding whether or not to step on. “This _thing_ is of no use to me as a warrior. I will not accept weaklings like this into my army.”

“His usefulness isn’t in his fighting skills.” Roan yanked Emerson to his feet by his collar and swung the back of his hand hard against the side of his head, causing him to cry out in pain. “Tell the queen what you know—what you told me in the quarry.”

It had been the deal that spared Emerson’s life temporarily, but it appeared as if he were going to die anyway. His legs trembled as he struggled to stay upright, and the queen fixed him with an unsympathetic glare.

Emerson’s voice was weak and raspy when he spoke. “When the war ended, there was one remaining nuclear warhead that didn’t launch. I know where it was last held.”

“And what use is that information to me?” the queen challenged.

“If you have control of the strongest weapon in the world—one that could take out all of your enemies in a single blast—you could easily control every other nation this side of the earth,” Emerson answered.

“The twelve clans would finally be rightfully yours, Nia,” Roan explained with a sly grin.

He knew any prospect of leading the twelve clans would be of particular interest to his older sister, who’d sought the position since she was young enough to wield a sword. Sure enough, she retreated to the corner of her throne room, filling a wooden cup with water and bringing it to Roan’s prisoner. Emerson might have considered it small act of mercy, but Roan knew better. The water was only intended to moisten his lips and ensure he spoke more clearly.

“Explain,” the queen instructed Emerson.

He nodded gratefully for the water and drank like a man dying of thirst, thankful for the opportunity to speak without risking a kick in the face or another chipped tooth courtesy of Roan’s knuckles.

Emerson cleared his throat nervously. “Before the world was destroyed, the US military invested hundreds of millions of dollars into a massive program called the ‘Ammunitions Liaison and Intelligence Entity’—A.L.I.E. for short. It was the first major defense technology that could _learn._ She could could sort through millions of high-frequency trade transactions daily, and with her silicon brain, she could determine which enemies were constructing nuclear weapons across the world—in some cases, even accessing and decrypting their security codes to make those nuclear weapons non-launchable. The first—and the last—worldwide nuclear arms race was on.”

“I hope you make your point soon because I’m losing my patience,” Nia warned him.

Emerson spoke more hurriedly: “But the good fortunes didn’t last. A.L.I.E. was designed with the ability to expand her own source code, and with her advanced hardware, her ability to add functions and procedures outpaced her handler’s ability to monitor them. So she went rogue. By the time her creators realized she’d quietly seized control of the world’s entire collection of nuclear arms, it was too late.”

“The last great war,” Roan supplied unnecessarily.

“In the more advanced nations, select citizens were evacuated to space. But all essential US government and military personnel were evacuated to the nuclear bunker at Mount Weather,” Emerson continued. “The world’s most prolific programmers mounted a last effort to hack into A.L.I.E.’s software to shut her down, but before they could, she orchestrated a simultaneous launch of all existing nuclear weapons at once.”

Nia considered Emerson’s story for a moment, and the silence in the open area hung heavily in the smoky room. The queen retreated to her throne, poised tall and regal in her seat. It was purposefully raised from the ground so that even when seated, the queen never had to look up to her supplicants. Emerson held his breath, as did Roan. If Nia didn’t accept the deal, both of them would likely be headless before they left this room.

“Your ancestors were cowards,” Nia directed at Emerson, “retreating to the mountain with their tails between their legs, knowingly abandoning their people to slaughter to save themselves. _Em ste kwelas_ ,” she sneered. Emerson didn’t understand the words’ meaning, but the disdain in the queen’s tone was unmistakable. “How fitting that even their most esteemed progeny were little more than parasites.”

Mount Weather had never posed much of a direct threat to the Ice Nation. Their land sat well outside the range of its missiles, the acid fog would never be able to reach their forests to the north, and there were no oxygen tanks large enough to allow the Maunon to mount a ground offensive. This was the first time a mountain man had ever set foot in Ice Nation territory, and for that reason alone, Emerson wouldn’t be trusted—nor would he be treated fairly. As battered as he was, he was still considered dangerous.

Emerson couldn’t begin to make reparations for nearly a hundred years of his people’s actions. He knew better than to try. He took Nia’s insult in stride, grateful that her reaction wasn’t worse. After all, by rights, he should have probably been killed by now.

“That may be,” Emerson reasoned with surprising coolness, “but I’ve done what I’ve needed to survive—as have we all. The world will always be in upheaval. If you want to guarantee your people’s survival, if you want to guarantee that your leadership is the only one they will ever have to submit to, I can provide you that. There was one bomb A.L.I.E. could not detonate because its construction was unfinished. I would be willing to show you where it is… in exchange for your leniency.”

“I’m supposed to reinforce the Ice Nation’s superiority with a weapon that doesn’t work?” the queen raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Take a look around you, Maunon. We have the best fighters, the best crafters, the best hunters… but we don’t build weapons _your_ people use. A half-built bomb would be no use to my people as decoration.”

“You want the Ice Nation to control the entire army of grounder clans, do you not?”

“I think over the past few years their leadership has been decidedly worse than usual, yes. Our people here are stronger, better trained, and more fit for command. It would be only natural to move the crown from Polis to our city.”

“In the past few months, a more— _technologically inclined_ —settlement has emerged from the south. They were certainly no allies of Mount Weather, but recently, I would imagine they would like nothing more than to exact revenge on your current Commander. You might be able to recruit them to your cause.”

“And just where is this settlement?”

“Forty miles west of Tondc.”

“I see…” Nia mused.

Even as far north as she was, the queen had heard the rumors of another sky people clan falling to the earth. Many years ago, the first of them had fallen into her own territory, but she’d driven them out, taking what prisoners she could and claiming their camp as a new settlement for her people. The inexperienced sky people surely wouldn’t have lasted long in the winters outside of their camp. Their weather was harsh, and the terrain was even harsher. Without food or shelter, what was left of them would have surely died off within a month.

These sky people to the south wouldn’t know of that history. And loath as Nia was to admit it, when it came to mastering the old world’s technology, the sky people knew it best. Once they were able to secure the Ice Nation a functional weapon, any alliance between their people would be over.

The queen stood from her throne, causing the other three in the chamber to hold their breaths nervously. “Here is my deal, Maunon: I will cause you no harm if you can bring me to this weapon. But know this—as long as you are working alongside my people, you won’t enjoy full freedom here. You are still Maunon, and I cannot trust your good faith to be true to your word. You be will kept safe, but as a prisoner until such time as you prove yourself trustworthy. That is my offer.”

Emerson’s face fell ever so slightly upon hearing he would be held as a prisoner, but it quickly resolved into a more neutral expression once he realized his life—at least for the foreseeable future—was spared. The Ice Nation queen needed him, so he wouldn’t be subjected to any torture that might kill him. He might be despised, but over the course of the last fifteen minutes, he’d made himself indispensable.

“I accept,” Emerson said.

The queen nodded. “Echo,” she called to her aide, “Would you escort our guest to a cell? I’d like a word alone with my brother. And try and be gentle with him. It looks like a stiff gust of wind might do him in.”

Echo wasn’t gentle with Emerson, and the queen excused her for not following that particular order. Echo kicked the small of Emerson’s back to get him walking, causing him to stumble forward. To keep him from hitting the ground, Echo yanked at the rope around his neck. His cries continued to grow fainter as the two disappeared down the long corridor to the exit.

Now that they were free from other company, Nia stepped down from her throne and marched toe to toe with her brother, fixing him with a hard, unforgiving stare. Their dark hair and prominent brows were undeniably similar when they were standing close together, as were their heights. Yet despite their similar stature, Roan looked positively small compared to his older sister in a rage.

“You have some nerve, Roan,” the queen spat at him.

“I missed you too, Nia.” He grinned cheekily.

“I should kill you for daring to show your face here again.”

“You won’t though. Not when you’re so close to having the twelve clans under your command. I can help you with that.”

“The only way you can help me is by following my command,” she retorted. “You went rogue and marched your own battalion to Mount Weather against orders, and then you openly defied the terms of your banishment for the entire city to see. I won’t have you openly challenging my leadership here. Brother or not—I _will_ kill you if it happens again.”

“It won’t,” Roan assured her with a shake of his head.

“Good. Then you won’t be opposed to leaving tomorrow at first light.”

“But you said—”

“What I said is that you can help me by following orders. There is unrest in the south. Maungedakru and Rifgedakru are primed to begin an uprising, but their leaders won’t strike while they believe themselves to be outnumbered. We will need to pass through Trikru territory undetected if we wish to garner any sort of temporary partnership with the sky people in the south. My sources say that Trikru will still fight on behalf of the alliance… We can use this to our advantage.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Roan frowned. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was being given an incredibly vital task, something he didn’t expect so soon after returning to his home nation.

Nia nodded. “I need you to spark the rebellion in the dissenting clans. March them to Polis and draw the Trikru army away from its own territory. If you can convince two hundred of my most loyal warriors to defy their queen on pain of death, I’m certain you can convince a few mutinous clan leaders to finally turn on their Commander. Take whoever you need and whatever you need. We still have some of the sky people’s old weapons locked in the armory, if you wish. I need you to divert all attention to Polis so that my company will be able to pass through Trikru unnoticed.”

“And my battle objective?” Roan asked.

“I want as many battalion leaders and generals captured as you can manage. Trikru has a long history of alliance with Kapgedakru—we need to know if that has changed, given recent events. After you have the information I need, you may do with them as you please.”

Roan nodded, already devising plans for the enemy leaders that would make even the strongest warrior’s skin scrawl. He had a particular flair for inflicting pain that even his sister admired as the queen.

“And the Commander?” he asked.

“If she happens to fall in battle as well, so much the better.”

Roan smirked in appreciation. “How long do I have?”

“I need the battle to start three weeks from tomorrow.”

“And Emerson?”

“Who?” The queen blinked in confusion.

“The Maunon,” Roan clarified.

“He’s your responsibility now. Our people would not stand for his continued presence here. I will let Echo do the honors of retrieving the necessary information from him tonight. After two months of suffering at his hand, it would only be fair to let her have her revenge. Then the Maunon will be yours to manage. If he misbehaves, you will face the consequences for his actions. He will need to be kept alive until we have the weapon in our possession.”

“And then what would you have me do?” Roan asked. “You promised you wouldn’t kill him.”

The queen backed away, retreating to the far corner of the room once again. She retrieved a dagger from her war table, returning to her brother in the center of the room. She handed it to him by the hilt. It was his favored weapon, a family heirloom she’d confiscated the day she banished him.

Nia replied with a voice cold as ice: “I won’t be breaking my promise, brother… _You_ will kill him instead.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were bound to be others who spotted Clarke leaving Camp Jaha, but everyone seemed to have the good sense not to chase after her. She didn’t look back, the sound of her name didn’t echo across the field, and Clarke reached the edge of the trees alone, slipping into the forest silently. The dense foliage obscured the Ark within seconds.

Clarke knew within minutes what she would see when she turned around, yet when she finally glanced back, the sense of loss hit her like a physical blow. All vestiges of her home and her people were gone. It was simultaneously an enormous relief and the most alone she’d ever felt in her life. More alone than she’d felt locked in solitary confinement on the Ark, and more alone than she’d felt after she’d been abandoned at Mount Weather to take charge of the battle herself.

Those were the thoughts that spurred Clarke onward. There was no goal in her mind, no place in particular she was trying to reach. _Away_ was the clearest intention in her mind, and Clarke knew she was successful when the forest terrain was no longer familiar.

She’d passed by some of her old haunts: the caves, the dropship, Finn’s bunker, and the raised mound of earth that marked Wells’ grave, now starting to grow grass over its surface. The once familiar landscape began to feel foreign the further she went. A month ago, Clarke would have dreaded passing through these areas alone. Back then, she and her friends had lived under constant fear of being silently picked off by grounders in the forest. Clarke wasn’t sure if that was a realistic fear any more.

Should she have been afraid to be alone right now? Clarke didn’t know. There was no alliance between their people anymore. The grounders almost certainly realized she was in their territory by now, yet no spears flew in her direction. Clarke’s gun stayed at her waist, and her dagger stayed tucked inside her boot. There might not have been a formal alliance after Mount Weather, but there might have been an unspoken truce at least.

The sun crept lower toward the horizon, and before the forest was cast into total darkness, Clarke finally found the wherewithal to stop. She busied herself with making a fire, a skill she’d been forced to master staying at the grounder camp. She didn’t add much kindling, just enough to provide some warmth as she fell asleep. It would probably dwindle to embers hours before morning broke—that was, if Clarke managed to sleep that long.

Clarke was certain the mental images she’d staved off during the day would come to the forefront of her mind unbidden during the night, and she was correct.

Maya, Dante, Cage, the countless others she’d burned to death with radiation… their ravaged faces were just as vivid as they were the night she killed them at Mount Weather. They flashed in her mind, one after the other, again and again until her worn body was finally rested enough to break the cycle of its own accord.

Clarke snapped awake, breathing hard with a sheen of cold sweat covering her body. The dreams weren’t real, yet her body reacted viscerally as if she’d been standing before the giant hall full of corpses again. It took a few moments before her breaths and her heart rate returned to normal. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the sun would be rising over the horizon any minute. That was when Clarke noticed that something else was amiss.

The meager fire she’d set in the middle of the night was still burning merrily in front of her. However, instead of the scant twigs and branches Clarke collected the night before, there were thick slabs of dried wood thrown on top. Someone had tended to the fire at some point while she was asleep. Next to her feet rested a leather pouch. Clarke pulled it open curiously, removing various cured meats from inside.

Someone was following her, and Clarke didn’t like the sensation of being watched.

She left hurriedly, abandoning the still burning fire and the collection of food behind her (the latter she would later regret). Clarke put the ground she covered yesterday behind her and set off at a furious pace once again, ignoring her thirst and the way her stomach rumbled. She stopped only when her legs could carry her no longer.

The following night, Clarke abandoned the fire altogether, instead curling up her body tightly and leaning against a tree trunk to keep warm. The nightmares plagued her again, and when Clarke woke up in a panic once more, she found herself covered in a fur cloak. The pouch of cured meats was resting at her feet again—this time with an animal hide canteen filled with water. There was nobody else within sight. Not hiding behind the brush, not in the trees, nor standing in the clearing. It was as if a ghost had come to visit her in the night, but the gifts they had left were quite real. The cloak fit surprisingly well over Clarke’s shoulders, and neither the meat nor the water was poisoned.

For the next two weeks, gifts continued to await Clarke most mornings. Without them, Clarke wouldn’t have been able to go on. She’d collected a newly fashioned pair of boots, which were a distinctly grounder style. They were lighter, yet better insulated than the pair she’d worn since landing on Earth. Her steps were far quieter, and now Clarke understood how grounders were able to move so stealthily in the forest. She’d also received a hunting knife, a new jacket (her old one wasn’t intended for the inclement weather and was now in tatters), and new gloves.

It appeared Clarke didn’t have just _one_ friend in the woods. She apparently had many, which also explained why she was never attacked. Clarke followed the star formations she’d learned on the Ark, so she knew she wasn’t covering the same ground day after day. By now, she had to be at least a hundred miles away from Camp Jaha, if not more. The weather was growing colder, Clarke noticed, but she wasn’t sure if it was the result of the changing latitude or the changing seasons. She hadn’t lived on the ground long enough to distinguish the two yet.

The first snowfall fell three weeks after Clarke left Camp Jaha, and it startled Clarke when she first awoke. The nightmares hadn’t lessened any, but Clarke rarely woke up in a panic anymore. The smooth, white surface spared the area around Clarke’s fire leaving an untouched circle where she rested the night before. Clarke stared at the blanket of white mesmerized until her eyes found an unnatural blemish interrupting its surface. Clarke crawled to her feet, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and shuffled toward the spot, expecting to find another “gift” waiting for her.

Instead, scrawled crudely in the snow was a single word, which caused a chill to run down Clarke’s spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather.

In handwriting that was almost childlike, it read: _WANHEDA_.

Clarke stood transfixed by the image before her eyes. Her Trigedasleng wasn’t polished, but Clarke understood the gist well enough. It was a fusion of two words Clarke knew all too well. Commander… Death…

 _Commander of Death_. It was a title— _her_ title—or at least, one she’d been unofficially given by the grounders following her stealthily in the forest.

Was it meant as an insult? Clarke didn’t think so. If it was derogatory, why would anyone bother leaving her gifts?

Was it complimentary then? Clarke quickly dismissed that idea too. Contrary to her initial impressions, grounders didn’t glorify death, she had learned. Death was merely a type of currency to be credited or owed. _Jus drein jus daun_. Just as blood demanded blood, death begat death. Strength was admired; death was simply the code their society lived by.

Clarke had no more time to ponder the significance of her new title. A loud gunshot rang out overhead, reverberating through the silent forest and echoing off the trees.

Then another… and another… and another.

Ten shots fired in all.

The gunshots themselves didn’t startle Clarke, but their presence _here_ of all places caused her alarm. Grounders didn’t own guns. The only people with guns were those she’d left at Camp Jaha and the Mountain Men. One of those groups Clarke had slaughtered entirely in a single night, and the other was a hundred miles away (if not more).

Clarke hastily scuffed away the letters in the snow with her boots before taking off at a sprint toward the source of the noise. The gunshots were perhaps a quarter of a mile away at most—close enough for her to reach in a couple of minutes, but far enough away to ensure no immediate visibility. Clarke burst through a gap between two trees breathing heavily and instantly saw the victim.

It was a girl near Clarke’s age, not older than eighteen or nineteen at most. Not all the bullets had found their mark, but enough of them struck for them to be fatal. Bile rose at the back of Clarke’s throat, and she approached cautiously. After all, not all of the gunshots Clarke heard were necessarily fired from one side.

There was still mutual fear when Clarke looked into the girl’s eyes. Clarke slowly, deliberately knelt down next to her so as not to incite further panic, but when her cloak fell open, revealing the gun at her waist, the wounded girl began scrambling away, fumbling for a knife attached to her leg. Clarke stilled her movements.

“It’s okay,” Clarke assured her as best she could.

Whether or not she understood was another matter entirely. Not all grounders spoke English. The ones Clarke met in Trikru who’d spoken fluently had learned because of the threat of Mount Weather looming over them. The grounders living out here were more isolated. Yet there was something about the girl’s appearance that seemed familiar. Her smooth, unscarred skin, the distinct lack of tattoos and scars… oddly enough, her features looked vaguely like the people she’d left at Camp Jaha.

Despite the differences in their attires, the wounded girl must have come to the same conclusion. She stopped struggling to get away, which only made her pain more evident. The blood from the gunshots was beginning to pool in the snow surrounding her. It stained Clarke’s already dirty pants, but she didn’t move away.

“It hurts,” the girl said, wincing and clutching at her abdomen.

There were more wounds than there were hands to apply pressure. Medically, there was nothing Clarke could do to help her. She would surely die. The only uncertainty was whether or not it would be a mercifully quick end, or a long, protracted one. She wasn’t about to leave the girl alone in the forest. Nobody, not even Cage Wallace, deserved to die alone.

“I know,” Clarke told her. “Here, let me help.”

The girl nodded, and Clarke retrieved the grounder’s knife from her belt. There was no protest from the dying girl, who by this time, had surely realized her fate.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Clarke held the knife at the girl’s neck, well out of sight. She answered calmly, “Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru.”

A flash of recognition crossed the girl’s face, and while she was distracted, Clarke slid the knife smoothly across her neck, just as she’d done weeks ago to Atom. The movement was so quick and calculated it didn’t even hurt. The girl’s hand wandered from her gunshot wounds, and Clarke caught it, holding firmly as she began to slip away. The dying girl squeezed Clarke’s hand back gratefully.

Her gasps faded to nothing, and her blue eyes glazed over, staring lifelessly into the blanket of grey clouds above them. Despite the heaviness of the moment, all was quiet.

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” Clarke whispered to nobody in particular.

She stood up after a moment, wiping her bloodstained hand and the wet blade of her knife against the trunk of a nearby tree. Just beyond where she stood, the forest seemed to end, replaced by a vast stone quarry.

“You!” a strange man’s voice shouted behind her. Clarke froze at the foreign sound. His accent was unlike any Clarke had ever heard, nothing at all like the ones she’d heard on the Ark, and nothing like the grounders who’d emulated them.

 It was the first time in weeks she’d heard a human voice (at least one that wasn’t completely in her own head). Unseen behind her cloak, she replaced the knife in her hand with her gun. Clarke was still a much better shot than a hand-to-hand fighter. If these were her last moments, she’d much rather face her assailant with her best weapon. As soon as her hand found its place on the textured grip, Clarke whirled around taking aim on the first figure in her sight.

Her spirits dropped when there wasn’t just one person behind her. There were five others standing in the snow, all of them armed with handmade knives and crude spears in striking positions. Clarke could easily shoot the ones in front in quick succession, but she would risk injury from the others in the back. She held her aim at the man in front, obviously their leader. She expected him to be afraid, as most other grounders were when it came to guns. Instead, he and the five others were looking at Clarke as if she were some sort of monster.

He glanced between Clarke and the dead girl in quick succession, growing more upset with every passing second. His final glare at Clarke was filled with hatred. The others behind him follow suit.

“What the hell did you do to Talia?!” the leader asked, gesturing to the dead girl behind Clarke. “She wasn’t no threat to you!”

“I didn’t do this to her,” Clarke shook her head.

“We heard the gunshots. Now _she_ is dead, and you’re here—with a smoking gun, so to speak. Your mistake though. Now you won’t have enough bullets for the rest of us.”

There was enough space between the two groups that Clarke quickly detached the magazine from her gun and showed it to her accusers. It still had a complete fifteen rounds inside. She slid it back in place and took aim once again. This time, the group of strangers regarded her differently. She’d not only proven to them that she _hadn_ _’t_ killed their friend… she’d also proven she had more than enough firepower left to take every last one of them down if she wanted to.

“Your safety’s on,” one of the others muttered from the back. They all stared at Clarke in a daze as she flipped the switch in annoyance.

These people clearly didn’t _own_ guns, but they knew about them somehow. Though they dressed like grounders, they certainly weren’t like any grounders Clarke had ever seen.

“Who the hell are you?” Clarke asked, brandishing her gun for emphasis.

“I think the better question would be ‘who are you?’” the group’s leader asked back. He was an older, stocky man with a shaved head and dark stubble covering his face. “There ain’t been nobody with firearms in these parts for damn near fifteen years.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asked.

“Let me put it this way… You got a gun. Nobody’s got guns here anymore, at least not outside of Mount Weather or the Ice Nation. You one of them mountain people from the south?”

“The Mountain Men are dead,” Clarke told him. “Every last one of them.”

The man’s thick brows furrowed in confusion. It was clear that the news hadn’t reached him, which was odd—seeing as how every grounder Clarke unknowingly passed along her journey seemed to know who she was and how the mountain had fallen.

“When?”

“Three, maybe four weeks ago,” Clarke answered. She collected herself before adding bitterly, “I killed them all.”

None of the strangers had been expecting that bit of news. Their initial skepticism was replaced by a sense of awe. Clarke, on the other hand, still wasn’t sure what she thought of these people yet. She wasn’t about to lower her guard around them and risk being attacked and outnumbered.

“Who are you?” the man in front repeated, this time more cautiously than the first. He lowered his long knife, which helped Clarke to relax, even if just a little bit.

“I’m Clarke Griffin.”

The man narrowed his eyes. He tried to place the name, but nothing spurred his memory. “Where are you from, Clarke Griffin?”

“My friends have a camp to the south of Mount Weather. We call it— _called_ it—” Clarke amended, “Camp Jaha.”

His eyes grew wide, as if suddenly coming to a realization. “Jaha… as in…”

“Thelonious Jaha, our former chancellor.”

There were muttered expletives from each one of the group after the mention of Jaha’s name. The leader (or who Clarke assumed was the leader) silenced them all with a wave of his hand. He gave Clarke an incomprehensible look—it might have been some combination of fear, joy, wonder, and dread.

“What station were you on? On the Ark?” the man asked.

The tiny hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck prickled in alarm at the question. There was something these people knew that was making her uneasy.

“Station four,” Clarke said.

A tiny voice spoke up from back: “So the others _did_ make it after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asked, not lowering her gun.

To her great surprise, the stocky leader’s mouth spread into a wide, toothy grin. He reached behind him, and Clarke, thinking he was about to pull a weapon on her, nearly squeezed her trigger. Instead of putting a bullet in his head, some instinct told Clarke to still her movement. A moment later, his hand reemerged gripping a handheld radio. He held it to his mouth and pushed the transmit button.

A short blip of static rang out before he said: “Hey Seth, it’s Pike.” There was a garbled return message that Clarke couldn’t decipher at this distance, and then the leader responded: “You’ll never guess who we just ran into. We’re at the Wanamie field entrance… Get your asses over here now!”

Clarke stared at him completely dumbfounded.

The man stepped forward, paying no mind to Clarke’s gun that was still raised and pointing squarely between his eyebrows. He was less than two feet away and could probably see the bullet down the length of Clarke’s barrel. Then shockingly, he smiled at her.

“The name’s Pike Bradbury,” he said, holding out his hand. Clarke didn’t reach down to take it, but he wasn’t offended. Instead, he introduced the others behind him. “We’re the survivors of Ark station thirteen.”

Ark station thirteen… or as Clarke knew it since she was a young child, the station that had been jettisoned from the Ark’s alliance a full fifteen years ago.


	2. Unlucky Thirteen

Clarke was still uneasy about the new Ark survivors she’d found. After the others arrived, they officially outnumbered the number of bullets in her gun. It was a small contingent of twenty, all either younger or middle aged adults. There were notably no children in the bunch. Of course Clarke didn’t recognize a single one of them, but they were speaking to her as if she were a long lost friend. Too cordial, too familiar.

Clarke was three years old when they were banished from the space station’s alliance. Their director was cited for misappropriation of resources, one of the gravest offenses for their frugal lifestyle on the Ark. There had been a probationary period before they were supposedly blasted clear out of the sky. Rumors of their fate generally followed one of two patterns; station thirteen either burned to ash from the explosion and reentry, or its remains were lost somewhere in the endless abyss, having been knocked from Earth’s orbit.

In neither scenario was anyone believed to have survived. It was a cautionary tale from a young, ambitious Chancellor Jaha—as if the threat of floating wasn’t enough. Yet here they were, apparently alive and managing some semblance of life on the ground.

Surely they must have known about the rest of the Ark falling to the ground, if not by word of mouth at least by witnessing its descent. A giant fireball such as that would have been visible for hundreds of miles. Clarke’s people had been in dire need of allies at the time. Why hadn’t the survivors from station thirteen come to their aid?

Their camp was set up on the edge of the forest not far from the quarry. Clarke followed the rest of their group when invited, curious to see how they were living. Clarke’s people were still new enough to Earth that they could rely on the Ark’s remains for power and shelter and still had supplies from before the landing. These people were fifteen years out from their arrival to earth, and they would have to be fending for themselves by now.

They’d already adopted the more utilitarian garb the grounders sported. When Clarke arrived at their camp, she predictably saw that their tents and huts weren’t all that different than the ones she’d witnessed at the grounder camps. Under the threat of annihilation, they’d been forced to use the materials available to them. They’d assimilated.

What _did_ surprise Clarke, however, was the size of their camp. She hadn’t expected to see only a smattering of tents and one sturdier hut that was clearly used for preparing food. There was no way an entire space station’s population could have lived here.

The others watched Clarke’s reaction closely. She was clearly the only visitor they’d had in quite some time, if they’d ever had any at all.

“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” Pike supplied with a shrug of his shoulders.

“How many of you are there?” Clarke asked. Maybe this was just a single camp, one of many. Maybe there was a much larger camp elsewhere; there _had_ to be.

“We’re the only ones left,” Pike said. “Just the twenty of us.”

Twenty people. When station thirteen had been cast off from the rest of the Ark, there had been just over two hundred. There had been deaths in Clarke’s party, but they still had the numbers to mount a resistance. These people were fugitives now. Clarke moved her hand away from the gun at her waist.

“What happened?” she asked.

The others looked away awkwardly at Clarke’s question.

“We got overrun,” Pike said after a moment. His voice didn’t carry its usual pleasant timbre, and the memory of it still stung him.

“By who?”

“The Ice Nation. Azgedakru—that’s what the grounders up here call ‘em.”

A shiver rolled over Clarke’s skin. “When?”

“Couple of months after we made it to the ground. They’re too strong, and there were too many of ‘em. We stood our ground and put up as much of a fight as we could, but they overtook us in two days. Those of us that weren’t killed got captured. We woulda’ all been executed if a little girl hadn’t snuck in and turned us loose one night. Didn’t even catch her name, but she couldn’t have been older than seven or eight.”

“Why?” Clarke frowned.

“Beats me,” Pike said, shaking his head. “We were just grateful for the hand, to be honest. About seventy of us escaped. There wasn’t no time to grab nothin’. We high tailed it to the forest and have been on the move ever since.”

“And now here you are,” Clarke finished, glancing around the meager camp.

A few of the others busied themselves with building a communal fire, while the rest emptied the traps and snares set around the perimeter of camp. They worked wordlessly, completing their practiced ritual they’d been performing over a decade. For the most part, it had worked for them. It wasn’t an extravagant lifestyle, but they could sustain themselves.

Pike gazed appreciatively at the sight of his people’s hard work. “Yeah, here we are,” he agreed.

At the behest of the northern Arkers, Clarke agreed to stay the night at their camp. But she would be leaving the next morning, she informed them. They’d naturally presumed she had obligations to be somewhere, and Clarke didn’t contradict that. There was nowhere to go and nobody to see. Truthfully, she still didn’t feel like sharing company.

An outsider might have assumed Clarke was still reeling from what she’d done at the mountain, but that wasn’t the case anymore. The nightmares were occasionally bothersome, but Clarke no longer lost her hold on reality when she awoke in the middle of the night. She didn’t jump when she heard the errant sound of wind rustling the trees. Though she didn’t like doing so, Clarke could now reflect on what happened at Mount Weather and not suffer the sudden urge to vomit.

Her more skeptical side thought perhaps she’d withdrawn so much during her time alone that she’d lost her tenuous grasp on humanity, but Clarke ultimately knew that wasn’t it. In the cold, clear, silence of the forest, she’d faced her demons in solitude. She would never forgive herself for what she’d done, but she could face it. It was incremental progress.

A team of cooks busied themselves with placing the trapped game on roasting spits above the fire. Clarke’s stomach growled loudly, betraying her hunger. Freshly cooked meat was a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed in some time. The dried strips left to her by the grounders were enough to sustain her, but they weren’t particularly filling.

While the few cooks worked to prepare the group’s meal, the others led Clarke to a set of logs surrounding their fire, inviting her to sit with them. Apparently they _had_ witnessed the giant fireball in the night sky a few months ago. Clarke tried to ask them why they hadn’t come to render aid as soon as they’d seen it. Despite the circumstances for their separation before, station thirteen and Camp Jaha could have been valuable allies.

“We came as soon as we saw,” one of the other women assured Clarke; she’d introduced herself earlier as Niylah.“There weren’t survivors at the first crash site. Whole section burned up before it even hit the ground. There was another one that crashed about thirty miles east of here. It wasn’t burned, but from the looks of it, the crash killed everyone on board. We just assumed the other sections got destroyed too. You and your friends were fortunate to have landed unharmed.”

The image of two dead teens in the dropship flashed briefly in Clarke’s mind, but she swiftly quashed the memory.

Clarke had wondered herself about the fate of the others on the Ark some months ago. She’d gotten distracted after her mother’s appearance, when she was focused single-mindedly on forging an alliance with the grounder clans, however foolish that had been. There had been talks about sending out search parties, and then… nothing. The remnants of their space station likely spread out over hundreds of miles. Any that landed over the ocean were a lost cause, and the chances of any others withstanding the impact were one in a thousand if not worse.

“They don’t teach you in Earth Skills how hard it is down here,” Niylah continued, misinterpreting Clarke’s silence as disapproval. “Nothin’ in our books could have prepared us for that first winter. We’d just escaped the Ice Nation and it didn’t seem like any of us would make it longer than a month.”

“Those were hard times,” Pike agreed. “The land was hard up there. The snow was so deep you could get lost in it. About ten from our camp went out during a blizzard and turned up missin’… we found their frozen bodies the next week. We kept movin’. First north, then west—trying to stay clear of the Azgeda and the other clans in the northern forests we’d heard about.”

“Other clans?” Clarke asked. She’d seen many of the other clans gathered for battle, but few of their leaders had ever been properly introduced.

“Hongedakru,” Pike explained. He gestured behind his back, deeper into the forests. “Probably the most dangerous thing in these woods here, but surprisingly not the most hostile. The Ice Nation was tough terrain, but this forest is a different kind of beast entirely. The Hongeda are made for it. We’re not. That’s why everyone passing through these parts travels through the quarry.”

The quarry, Pike later explained, used to be a massive anthracite coal field back before the nuclear war. Any coal left exposed on the surface was ignited during the blasts, leaving nothing but a rocky chasm behind it that expanded two or three hundred miles from start to finish. Not many wayward travelers ever made it this far north—partially because of the harsher climate, and partially because of the vicious reputation of the northern grounders—but armies would often use it as a marching ground. The stone surface left no tracks. As long as any passersby cleaned up after themselves, they couldn’t be easily tracked over rock. It was safer, and it was stealthier.

Clarke still thought she liked the forest better.

“I’d be careful going into the forest alone, Clarke,” Pike warned her again, almost as if he were reading her thoughts. “The grounders won’t necessarily strike unless you’re huntin’ their  game, but I’ve seen one of ‘em spear a running badger from damn near a hundred yards away. They throw like that for a reason. There are more than just grounders in these woods. Remember that.”

At Pike’s ominous warning, Clarke recalled her most vivid memories of the radiation-induced beasts this world had to offer. The two headed deer she’d seen upon first landing on Earth was nothing compared to the pauna she’d seen outside Tondc. Then the image of Lexa came unbidden to her mind, and Clarke quickly closed herself off again before she betrayed any outward reaction.

It worked, too. The other northerners who’d been utterly enthralled with Clarke ever since her arrival didn’t notice the brief flicker of weakness cross her face. She made her expression strong and unaffected once again.

“Trust me,” Clarke said defiantly. “I’ve handled worse.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking about the gorilla that could flay the skin off a person with a single swipe of his hands, or if she was talking about the commander. As far as Clarke was concerned, there wasn’t much distinction between the two in her rational mind anymore. Each was equally as dangerous as the other, and apparently equally as trustworthy too.

The others heard Clarke’s bravado and at least had the common sense not to ask her for an explanation. Just as the former Ark inhabitants were to Clarke, she was foreign to them, so they couldn’t help but be a little curious.

“Why did you leave your camp? Camp _Jaha_?” One of the others asked. Clarke pretended not to hear the slight sneer at the end, not that it bothered her much anyway. “You a criminal or somethin’?”

“I left because I wanted to,” Clarke said.

“Why?”

“Because I needed to make a decision for me… just for once.”

Clarke hadn’t been thinking when the words left her mouth, but as soon as she said them, she knew they were right. Everything she’d done that led up to her standing in a giant room full of corpses had been for her people. She’d done it because she knew she had to (who else would have?), but every life she took in the process eroded a little piece of her humanity away. Holding onto the last shred she had left, Clarke did the first selfish thing she’d done in a long time.

She ran.

She’d been gone for a month, and other than a few stray thoughts during the day, she was unburdened by leaving them behind. No more sacrificing bits and pieces of herself to keep them alive. They were safe, and although Clarke was alone, she was free.

Clarke didn’t have plans to stay for long, but suddenly the prospect didn’t seem that unappealing. Nobody here conjured any images of slaughtered Mountain Men or the burned bodies of grounders. Finn’s dead body tied to a post and Raven’s anguished screams in the distance seemed like a memory from another existence.

“It was hard for us on the ground when we landed too,” Clarke said, a gross understatement. “A hundred of my friends were sent down on the first dropship as punishment. It wasn’t that different from what happened to you.”

“Like _hell_ it wasn’t,” Pike snapped back at her, more harshly than she’d ever heard him.

Clarke hadn’t been expecting that reaction. She stilled herself on top of her log and watched warily as Pike recomposed himself. He was calm when he spoke again, but it was a forced civility.

“We followed Chancellor Jaha’s rules,” Pike said. “Ten hours of lights out time between eight and six o’clock in the morning… one child per family unit… water rations… food rations… oxygen preservation measures. We did all of it. Station thirteen had better compliance than any other space station on the Ark. I would know. I was the station’s director of operations.”

“A whole lot of good that did us,” someone muttered behind them.

“Then why did Jaha send you to Earth?” Clarke asked.

Pike stared at her contemplatively for a moment. “They really didn’t tell you, did they?”

“They didn’t… but it wouldn’t have been the last secret Jaha kept from us.”

Pike contemplated her words for a moment before explaining. “The thirteen nation alliance before the war signed a treaty to link their space stations for the mutual benefit of all involved,” he said. “Safety in numbers, as they say. There’d never been residential colonies in space before that time, so everyone in charge was afraid. They believed if the countries pooled their resources, all sides could limit their losses. It worked for decades.”

“So what changed?”

“There were some irregularities with the resources aboard the Ark. The solar concentrators weren’t keeping oxygen recycling paced with carbon dioxide production. There were food shortages, insensible water losses from our recycling system. A young Chancellor Jaha defeated Diana Sydney in the election with a campaign promise to fix the Ark’s broken systems.”

“And that was when the floating started,” Clarke reasoned. Enough time had passed since her father was killed that the mere mention of floating no longer bothered her like it once did.

Pike shook his head. “There were floatings long before he took over, but not for minor offenses. Once Jaha ruled the Ark, people could get floated for going a minute over their allotted shower time. People didn’t like it—there was even talk of removing him from office. So he did what he had to do to save face: find a scapegoat to blame for the Ark’s fundamentally flawed resource shortages.”

“But how could he do that if you were following all his rules?”

“Irrelevant. Each Ark station was monitored for intake and output—how much oxygen was produced versus consumed, and likewise with food, water, and power. At no fault of our own, our systems were failing first. We had the lowest consumption, but we also had the lowest production. Our country was in an economic recession before the station launched, and the corners our ancestors cut to save money were finally starting to catch up with us.”

“That’s what the original alliance was meant for—to share resources and guarantee maximum survival of the human race. After ninety years, you’d be stupid to think everything would function the way it did when the station was first built.”

“That didn’t matter,” Pike assured her. “The first part of our station’s ‘probationary period’ was called _enhanced resource restriction_. The Ark fancied itself the last refuge of humanity, but that was six months of the most inhumane living you could imagine.”

Clarke shouldn’t have asked for details, but her curiosity got the best of her.

Station thirteen had been sentenced to hell for shortcomings that were beyond their control—the same failures that began plaguing the rest of the Ark not even fifteen years later. With the council’s approval, Jaha unleashed draconian measures on them that certainly _would_ have killed them all if they hadn’t been cast to Earth first. Every new law was at least twice as harsh as the ones Clarke was accustomed to.

There was mandatory chemical castration initiated for all in station thirteen, ensuring their eventual genocide. Their oxygen supply was reduced by two thirds, making hypoxia rampant. Their water and food supplies were halved. Surprisingly, however, this wasn’t the most unbearable of the injustices they faced.

The worst were the electricity reductions, namely reducing the supply to their central heating and cooling. While the rest of the ark stations enjoyed temperate conditions, Thirteen had to survive on what little energy their own failing generators were capable of producing. In the void of space, periods when they were exposed to the sun’s radiation were spent in sweltering heat, and times when they were shielded by Earth’s shadow were spent in the freezing cold. In a matter of hours, the metal walls of their space station could go from hot enough to blister human skin to collecting an inch thick layer of frost. The youngest and the oldest aboard didn’t tolerate the abrupt changes well. Their bodies didn’t have the physiologic reserves of healthy adults, and more than a few died as a result.

Jaha couldn’t keep up those tactics indefinitely though, and he knew it. Eventually, the rest of the Ark would start noticing the irregularities—why there was no light coming from the windows of their smallest station, and why there were only half the rations being carted off to their side of the ship. He held a vote with the other councilors and a much younger Vice Chancellor Kane. Instead of hemorrhaging precious resources to a failing part of the spacecraft, they decided to cast off station thirteen entirely.

“The alliance of thirteen stations was agreed to for three more generations,” Clarke said after Pike’s explanation. “There was a signed treaty outlining the terms for sharing of life-support. It was all in writing. If what you said is true, then Jaha was guilty of violating an international treaty. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been ongoing problems with other stations for years. Why didn’t the other council members from the alliance stand up to him?”

 “Because ultimately, alliances don’t mean shit,” Pike scoffed, releasing years of bitterness in his words. “They’re reactionary—promises made in response to bad circumstances. Circumstances always change though. Leaders gotta take care of their own first. The moment we became expendable, the moment they were better off leaving us for dead, we got the ax.”

The most disturbing part of Pike’s story was Jaha’s conviction that he was doing those aboard the Ark a tremendous favor. Even his notorious record of execution was always portrayed as a necessary sacrifice. Many argued the three hundred he’d sacrificed in the culling bought the remaining survivors enough time to devise a plan for crash landing the spacecraft.

He’d killed his own numerous times, knowingly allowed them to die, and then to add insult to injury, claimed praise for delivering the Ark back home to Earth. With such venerated heroes, who needed villains?

There really were no good guys, after all.

The group surrounding the fire was interrupted only when the meat from the snares finished roasting on the spits. Plates were an extravagance these people couldn’t afford; each slab was cut and skewered on a stick and handed out to each person around the fire. Clarke almost forgot what a cooked meal smelled like, and it made her mouth water. She was warm, she was fed, and she would have some form of shelter tonight, even if it was just a shabby tent.

Thanks to Jaha’s actions, there would be no legacy for station thirteen. As the years wore on, they would die off one by one with no posterity to succeed them, and in fifty years, they would be entirely forgotten—a footnote in the pages of a heavily edited history written by the ones who’d wronged them. _Clarke_ _’s_ people.

For that alone, their civility toward her was a small miracle.

Pike and the others were oblivious to Clarke’s musings, and they began devouring their meals as soon as they were handed out. A low hum of conversation emerged from various other circles around the fire, the usual friendly banter she’d come to expect at communal gatherings. Clarke paused for a moment, regarding her food curiously.

Clarke too felt the sting of betrayal, but her wounds were fresher. She was too devastated by her supposed victory to face the reality that forced her hand. It was easier to avoid thinking about Lexa walking away, leaving her alone to face the mountain by herself. What should have been a simple political arrangement shouldn’t have left her so despondent when it inevitably fell apart. She’d let herself get too emotionally invested; Lexa’s departure was far too personal. Like station thirteen, Clarke had persevered too, though not totally unscathed. She felt like a mere shadow of the person she was before.

“If you rely on anyone else, you’ll always be expendable sooner or later,” Clarke said heavily. She’d been silent long enough that her words came as a surprise to the people sitting around her. A hush fell over the tiny camp, and every curious eye fell on Clarke. “That’s why alliances can’t last,” she continued. “The only ones you can trust are your own people. I made that mistake once too. I won’t be making it again.”

Clarke didn’t say this out loud, but she secretly wondered if she could claim anybody as her people anymore. She’d abandoned Camp Jaha with no promise of when or even if she’d come back at all. Despite the curious title she’d been given by the grounder clans in the forests, she didn’t belong to them either.

Clarke Griffin simply wasn’t _Clarke kom Skaikru_ anymore. She was _Wanheda_. Death had a strange way of following Clarke wherever she went, and nobody liked constant reminders of their own mortality.

She recalled the troubled glances she’d received when she marched them from Mount Weather. Wary, alarmed, concerned—like Clarke was an injured animal that might attack at the slightest provocation. She’d changed beyond recognition, and for that, Clarke wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore.

Here in the forest was good enough for now. The few northern Ark survivors around the communal fire didn’t look at her like she was in danger of coming unhinged at any moment. They might not have known the depth of the atrocities Clarke had committed, but they’d been on the ground long enough to have witnessed much, much worse.

Later that night when Clarke fell asleep, for the first time in weeks, she had no nightmares.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So you’re really leaving then?” Pike asked the moment Clarke emerged from her makeshift tent.

Her shelter had been hastily thrown together with long stripped branches and covered with canvas sewn together from tattered old clothing from the Ark. It hadn’t provided much in the way of insulation, but it kept the night’s snowfall off Clarke’s body.

The sun had yet to break over the horizon, illuminating the sky in a dark blue that only faintly lit the ground at her feet. The moon and stars were still prominent in the sky, so the others were at least two hours from waking, or so Clarke had assumed. She hadn’t noticed Pike’s figure sitting in front of the now extinguished campfire. He was weaving long threads of bark into what appeared to be rope, his hands moving deftly with quick, practiced motions. She startled when she heard his voice unexpectedly, and he gave her an apologetic look.

“Yeah, I’m still leaving. I don’t want to intrude,” Clarke lied.

“No, you’re runnin’,” Pike said. “Question is, from what?” When Clarke didn’t answer, he added, “Or maybe it’s from _who_?”

Clarke blushed, thankful to have her face mostly hidden by the relative darkness.

“Does it really matter?” she asked.

“I can’t answer that for you. But you should be careful running around in these parts if you don’t know where you’re headed. One false turn up here could cost you your life.”

“Your people have survived well enough.”

“We haven’t always,” Pike reminded her, but he knew nothing he could say would convince Clarke to stay. “If you follow the quarry north and keep goin’ the direction you were headed, you’re gonna run straight into the heart of the dead zone. Nobody ever comes back once they get lost up there.”

“And if I don’t follow the quarry?” Clarke asked.

“The woods to the east of the quarry are home to Worgedakru. They don’t take kindly to outsiders. They’d just as soon kill you than look at you. The woods to the west of the quarry—behind us—belong to Hongedakru. They’re game hunters by trade, but you shouldn’t expect a warm welcome from them either.”

“And the Ice Nation?” Clarke asked. They were one of the few clans Clarke already knew existed, and not coincidentally, they were the one she most wanted to avoid.

Pike glanced up at the sky for a brief time, searching it wordlessly. “I take it you were still taught astronomy on the Ark, is that right?”

It was one of their many courses intended to prepare the Ark for eventual life on the ground. Many people blew it off—because who needed to learn navigation with stars on a space station that easily visualized the entire sky?—but luckily for Clarke, she’d taken it seriously.

“That’s right,” Clarke said.

Pike pointed to a point in the sky vaguely behind Clarke. “Alphecca,” he said. “Brightest jewel in the Northern Crown. This time of the year, it leads northwest. If you follow it from here, you’ll get to Azgeda in about five days walkin’ at a normal pace.”

“And if I wanted to go around it?”

“You’re runnin’ out of real estate, Clarke,” he sighed. “The grounders have claim to every bit of land that’s livable up here—the rest has been abandoned. Once you reach Azgeda there’s not much further you can realistically go. The giant lakes will cut off your route, and staying up there is a death sentence. Those snowstorms on the lakefront are the worst I’ve ever seen.”

So Clarke’s journey into the vastness of the open woods was coming to a premature end. For all the places she could travel on foot, she’d effectively reached the edge of the universe. She could stay where she was, or she could turn back.

But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to turn back yet. If those at Camp Jaha had been awaiting her return, their affections would have turned to bitterness by now, assuming they believed her to still be alive. Their pity was bad enough, but coupled with their contempt? Clarke didn’t know if she would ever be ready to face them again.

Maybe the best move was to stay hidden in the forest forever. Simply disappear.

“Did you say something?” Pike asked her.

Clarke stared at him. She’d been silent for the better part of two minutes, unsuccessfully planning her next move.

“Come again?” Clarke said.

“I heard something… that wasn’t you?”

Clarke shook her head. Whatever Pike thought he heard, Clarke certainly hadn’t heard it. While Clarke wasn’t fussed about the phantom sounds he’d heard at the forest’s edge, it clearly bothered Pike, who abandoned the rope he was weaving at his feet and scrambled upright. Clarke followed him to the edge of the quarry, where the line of trees providing cover for their camp ended abruptly.

Clarke didn’t see anything amiss at first.

Then she spotted the pinpoints of light in the distance. It wasn’t the sun, Clarke realized immediately. They were too small, too scattered, and they were spreading along the northern horizon. After a moment, their forms became clearer.

They were torches, at least two hundred of them, all carried by foot soldiers in the quarry. The worst part was, not even half of the ones marching were hoisting them into the air. There were another three hundred bodies interspersed throughout the huge group, which was approaching at an alarmingly fast pace.

“Who are they?” Clarke asked Pike, who was watching the marchers just as intently as she was.

She squinted at the crowd to see better. Other than the token forces from the north sent to fight at Mount Weather, she’d yet to formally meet any of their clans. Their distinctive accoutrements wouldn’t mean much to her, but most striking was the thick blue warpaint they wore smeared diagonally across their faces.

It wasn’t long before they were nearly close enough to overhear their private conversations.

“Clarke, get down now. Slowly.”

Pike’s voice held a quiet intensity that Clarke knew well: the sound of barely concealed panic. Retreating to their camp, especially in the darkness, wasn’t their best move. Either one of them could unknowingly misstep in the low light, and then they would surely be caught. She quickly bent to her knees, settling in behind a nearly leafless bush beside Pike. They could see through the gaps in the twigs easily.

“Who are they?” Clarke tried again, this time barely a whisper.

“Azgedakru.”

Clarke could have sworn the temperature outside dropped ten degrees. If it had, it certainly wouldn’t have affected the Ice Nation army, who wore layers of furs fit for a blizzard. Also different from any other grounders Clarke had ever seen were the guns they carried with them… and not just pistols either. There were hefty automatic rifles slung over many of their shoulders.

But grounders didn’t carry guns. Clarke knew that to be a universal, unassailable truth.

She turned to ask Pike about their weapons collection, but as she did, an unfortunately familiar figure in the front of the guard caught her eye. Clarke was forced to do a double take to make sure it was really who she thought it was. He was emaciated now, a far cry from the muscled guard she’d known at Mount Weather, but Clarke would recognize his face anywhere.

It was Emerson.

The mere sight of him set off a whirlwind of panic Clarke couldn’t control, nor did she understand why it affected her so profoundly. Her entire body went numb, and her heart felt as if it were about to fall into her stomach. Four weeks had been long enough to process the images of the ones she’d killed at the mountain. Now it felt as if she were right back at Mount Weather, gun in one hand and the other resting on the lever to the air vents.

The only rational thought that passed through Clarke’s mind was how badly she wanted—she _needed_ —to escape. Her breaths started coming in gasps, and she stumbled to her feet again, preparing to run. The destination didn’t concern her. She was prepared to run as deep into the forest as she needed to, Hongedakru be damned.

“Clarke, wait!” Pike hissed at her a moment too late.

In Clarke’s haste, her feet immediately tangled into the thick brush beneath her feet. Twigs snapped and roots tore with each of her hurried strides, which echoed loudly in the calm morning air. A group of passing Ice Nation soldiers on the formation’s edge heard the noise. They stopped to investigate, and one of them pointed into the forest in Clarke’s general direction.

“Der!” he shouted.

Another one standing in the center pointed his rifle where Clarke stood. He positioned one eye against the scope and took aim, and before she had a chance to react, a deafening pop reverberated through her body, so loud that she felt it in her bones before her mind registered the sound. The bullet whizzed past her ear, lodging into a tree nearby.

“Yo, zog raun!”

Clarke met Pike’s alarmed eyes, and the two of them knew without saying that they needed to run _._ The unit of twenty Ice Nation troops bolted toward their hiding spot, leaving the main formation behind. It was undoubtedly a safety measure that the gunmen were lined up along its edges to take out any other clans that might have been staging an attack. Only Pike and Clarke weren’t part of a clan—and none of the others at their camp had weapons that would stand a chance against automatic rifles.

She and Pike had a fifty foot head start against their pursuants. They sprinted hard through the dimly lit forest, treading down the bank of earth that helped hide their camp from view of the quarry. The twists and turns bought them just enough time to reach the camp before the Ice Nation descended upon them.

Niylah had already heard the first gunshot, and was crawling from her tent in confusion, along with several others. Her brown hair was mussed from sleep, but her eyes were alert. She spotted Clarke and Pike headed for the camp, and she was instantly on edge.

“What is it?” Niylah asked, wasting no time with niceties. Part of her probably hoped that the gunshot she’d heard was Clarke’s, not a more terrifying alternative.

“Azgeda!” Pike shouted to the camp.

Clarke nearly tripped in her haste to get down the hill, and Pike wasn’t far behind her. Niylah cocked her head to the side in confusion, the reality not kicking in immediately. The others remained snug in their tents.

“Run!” Clarke added. “They’re coming!”

Those who’d been lagging behind heard the warnings loud and clear. Within seconds, they began emerging from their tents. Pike and Clarke mobilized the sleepy camp well enough, but their raised voices alerted the ones chasing them immediately to change their course. They’d been spreading out to broaden their search, but now they were honed in on their precise location.

The others barely had time to start pulling their boots onto their feet before a hailstorm of bullets descended on their camp. The Ice Nation swept their gunfire from side to side, covering the entire camp. Clarke saw three campers fall as she continued sprinting past them. Their best chance at survival was to outrun them or to lose them in the forest beyond, all the while hoping that Hongedakru didn’t take offense at their presence.

None of the remaining campers grabbed anything of value. Most of them weren’t even fully clothed, and more than a few took off with woolen socks covering their feet only. Their lives were more important than their meager belongings.

Clarke wasn’t expecting to be thrown to the ground during the scramble. She’d barely made it past the far edge of the camp when a pair of strong arms grabbed her waist and flung her aside. She hit the ground hard, but when she turned around, she was surprised to see it wasn’t an Ice Nation warrior who’d tackled her. It was Niylah.

The Ice Nation warrior in pursuit hadn’t seen them fall to the ground together. He continued on his course, and when his foot hit where Clarke would have stepped (had she not been flung out of the way), she suddenly understood why Niylah had pushed her.

His misstep triggered one of the traps set up around outside their camp. In the blink of an eye, one of Pike’s ropes snatched his ankle and flung him off his feet. Clarke watched with wide eyes as the line yanked him further and further into the air, dangling by one leg in the tree above. Those weren’t Pike’s usual ropes, Clarke later realized. Instead of the smooth cords he’d woven earlier, these were threaded with shards of razor sharp metal and rock. They were intended to ensure that wild game couldn’t wriggle free from the trap, but it apparently worked just as well for humans. In the commotion, the rifle strapped across the Ice Nation warrior’s shoulders slid off and clattered to the forest floor. Clarke swiped it, shoving it into Niylah’s arms.

“Thanks,” Clarke muttered.

“Don’t mention it,” Niylah said. She held the gun awkwardly, as if she’d never handled one before. In any other situation, Clarke would have sought out someone else to lay cover fire, but there were unfortunately no other options.

Clarke was covered in mud, and there was a cut on her knee after her fall, but most importantly, she wasn’t hanging upside down from a tree as live bait. More gunfire echoed deeper in the forest, capturing her attention. The others were still under attack.

“Let’s go,” she said, pulling Niylah forward by the arm.

Clarke was careful not to pull too far ahead of Niylah, as she was one of the campers who set and emptied the traps every night and knew where they were hidden. They ran so far that Clarke could only assume they’d passed the traps altogether. Niylah no longer knew what course to take. They were only following faint bursts of gunfire.

They caught up with Pike first, who’d also been separated from the rest of the group. Two more campers quickly followed, followed by several more as they grew nearer to the gunmen. Clarke secretly wondered how many in the camp led the ones chasing them into traps as well; they had all shaken off the ones following them.

“Over there,” Pike said, motioning to where the shots were loudest.

Clarke and Niylah hid behind a tree together, and the others chose their places as well while they inched forward. The sunrise was almost at hand, and visibility had increased considerably. When it came time for Clarke to maneuver forward, however, she didn’t stop. She crept far past what anyone expected, ignoring the hushed protests behind her. The sight of the Ice Nation fighters carried her forward.

Clarke wasn’t sure what she was witnessing at first. The enemies had their backs turned to her, so even though she stood in plain sight, none of them saw her. There were about ten standing across the small clearing, each with their weapons raised against an unseen foe. They backpedaled slowly, firing off shots at intervals into the shadowy void in front of them. Clarke wondered who they were shooting at; none of those left in their group seemed to have made it that far.

But something stirred in the shadows beyond the Azgedakru warriors, and a moment later, a pair of luminous yellow eyes shone through the darkness. Clarke was too stunned to react. She watched in horror as the enormous creature leapt from its perch in the forest into the clearing.

It _looked_ like a panther, only five times as large, and each of its sharp claws were easily as big as Clarke’s entire forearm. The Ice Nation took their shots, but their bullets did little more than anger it further. The panther took a monstrous swipe at the field of attackers with its paw, administering fatal blows to three gunners at once. The others retreated in Clarke’s direction, and the panther followed.

“Clarke, get out of there!” Niylah said from behind her. Niylah clutched her weapon like she was holding onto it for dear life.

Only, it seemed as if their guns weren’t having much effect on the creature chasing them now. Maybe the caliber of their bullets were too small, maybe the panther’s skin was too thick… Once the Ice Nation fighters reached her, however, Clarke would be the only one standing in its path. None of them stood a chance in hell at outrunning it; it was a predator, and the only reason it would stop was once it had captured its prey.

Clarke pulled her gun from her waist and, with four quick shots, took out the kneecaps of the retreating Ice Nation soldiers. They stumbled, but the shots themselves weren’t fatal. That gave Clarke and Niylah just enough time to run before the panther leapt upon their injured enemies. Their anguished screams lasted for only a moment before they were drowned out completely by snarling and ripping flesh. Clarke didn’t look back.

“Hurry! Back to the camp!” Clarke yelled to the others. She took off at a sprint once again, spurned on by the adrenaline that helped her ignore the burning in her lungs.

The distance didn’t provide the safety Clarke had hoped for. The panther was back on their trail in less than a minute, its screams growing louder with every step they took. They knew the panther had finally caught up to them when members from their party begin to fall. Three quick screams, followed by three quick snaps, and Clarke knew they’d reached the end of their race.

She skidded to a halt and turned around, almost defiantly, to stare down the creature that had bloodlust in its eyes. There was red glistening on its muzzle, and it bared its teeth at Clarke menacingly. The rest of Ark station thirteen gathered behind her fearfully, looking back and forth between their fallen comrades and the beast that was about to strike.

Clarke lifted her gun and aimed it squarely at its head. She squeezed the trigger and closed her eyes. The recoil shook her arms, and the loud pop caused her ears to ring. When she opened them once again, she was surprised to see the panther was down. Its eyes were closed, and its mouth lolled halfway open.

The others stared with their jaws dropped, like they couldn’t believe what they’d witnessed. Clarke could hardly believe it either. She wasn’t expecting her own bullets to have much of an effect.

That was when she saw the spear emerging through the back of the panther’s head, its thick weighted handle unlike anything fashioned one of the Arkers. The spear tip was over a foot long and honed sharp enough to pierce steel, the perfect weapon for striking down giant, feral cats.

Clarke was too torn between gratitude and fear to flinch when another grounder descended from the trees. This grounder looked more like what Clarke was accustomed to seeing. Instead of the white furs with washed out clothing, his attire was more suited for camouflage. Even the dark tattoos on his face were shaped into twists resembling foliage, and the black warpaint under his eyes was familiar even though his face was not.

For some reason, he didn’t appear hostile. Clarke watched him with a keen eye, but the others from station thirteen backed away uncertainly. Their experiences with grounders had been altogether bad. While Clarke’s interactions of late had been sullied with betrayal, she harbored no ill will against the grounders in general.

“Thank you,” Clarke offered.

He nodded once. “The Maunon stole my family years ago,” he said in hesitant, unpracticed English. “My people—we owe you a debt. And now that debt is repaid.”

Clarke blanched at the reminder, though she kept her expression even and her jaw set in a hard line. She could practically feel ten sets of eyes boring into her backside. She’d told Pike and the others about her actions at Mount Weather, but they hadn’t known she was such a well known figure among grounder clans.

“You should go now, Wanheda,” the Hongedakru soldier added. “The forest is no longer safe—for you or your friends. If our scouts’ reports are true, the coalition has already started to break. War may soon be upon us all.”

Clarke had an inkling that the grounder alliance was shaken the moment she saw a full force of Ice Nation warriors on the march south. They were outfitted for war, as Clarke saw all too plainly.

“Are you going to fight?” Clarke asked.

“It’s too early to tell.”

“Azgedakru are your enemies, aren’t they?”

“This coming war will be far more complex than friend versus foe.”

Clarke sighed, lacking the patience to deal with his ambiguity. She decided to try a more direct approach. “If the Ice Nation invades your forest, would you fight them or not?”

“There is a reason they didn’t invade our forests now, under cover of night. They know we’ve spotted their movements, and now we will be ready. If they were looking for battle in the coming days, they’ve missed their chance. The only reason they would come back is after they’d gathered more allies from the south. I hear Maungedakru and Rifgedakru’s leaders were particularly angry after the retreat at the mountain.”

“Well, they weren’t the only ones,” Clarke retorted bitterly.

“So you would seek to join their rebellion?”

“No. What I’m saying is that your _commander_ has nobody to blame but herself for this. _She_ wanted a war. One way or another, she’s going to get one.”

The grounder backed away, and Clarke was certain he was going to leave at the slight against his leader. He didn’t leave though. He only retreated to the slain panther and roughly yanked his spear free from it’s body. He looked positively menacing while carrying it, mostly because it stood over a foot taller than he was from end to end. There was no threat in his actions, however. He returned with his weapon in hand and pressed the hilt into the soil as if to lean on it.

“For all our sakes, I hope you’re wrong,” he told her. “Soldiers will fall, but they are never the only casualties. You of all people should understand that. You know nothing of the wars we wage here. Thousands would die. It would be even worse than before, only this time—I’m not sure our people could survive it.”

Clarke was silent for a moment, feeling only a little guilty for wishing a war on Lexa’s people out of spite. She didn’t want the _grounders_ to suffer. Only their commander. “How long before it starts?” she asked.

“To move an army for battle? Weeks perhaps. A month at most.”

After witnessing the group marching through the quarry, it seemed like too long an estimate. Clarke had taken that long to wander here aimlessly all the way from Camp Jaha. If the Ice Nation had a destination in mind, they could easily get there in two weeks if they wished. The thought alarmed her, and the reaction must have been plainly evident on her face because the Hongedakru warrior was quick to respond.

“Skaikru has little to fear from the Azgeda,” he told her.

“How can you know that?” Clarke asked. She’d seen their guns. There was no telling what other weapons they had in their possession; they apparently had whatever was left over from their raid of station thirteen, and like most other stations, its armory was heavily fortified prior to launch in space.

“No clan would risk a frontal attack against your people after their victory at Mount Weather. It would be a suicide mission.”

Camp Jaha wasn’t a heavily fortified battle fortress, by any stretch of the imagination. The ruins of the Ark provided shelter, but against enterprising fighters like the grounders, its walls and electric fences would have been child’s play.

“I don’t understand,” Clarke said.

“The word is that nobody will ride within a day of the mountain since the Maunon’s defeat. It’s too dangerous.”

“The Mountain Men are dead.”

“The ones inside were killed, but the mountain itself lives on. Our people have not suffered a fight with Mount Weather, and we intend to keep it that way. Don’t fear for your people, Clarke. They are far safer than you are in these parts.”

Clarke nearly asked how he knew her name before she remembered that every man, woman, and child in grounder territory likely knew her name, if not her face. But his comment about Mount Weather didn’t sit well with her. Had she not killed everyone inside Mount Weather? _Emerson survived_ , she recalled with a shudder. Were there others? Two weeks ago, the prospect of survivors at the mountain would have been a source of relief. Now, it only worried her more.

The grounder began retreating again, only this time, Clarke knew without a doubt that he was leaving for good.

“Where are you going?” she blurted.

“Back to my people, where I belong,” he said, not breaking his stride as he walked away. “I would advise you to do the same.”

“But I didn’t catch your name.”

“I never gave it.”

“Please?”

The grounder halted, but kept his back turned to Clarke, almost as if he were considering whether or not to tell her. “Igor,” he eventually conceded. “Now you should leave. Before you do, if you would be so kind as to clean up the mess you made in my trees.”

He gestured above his head as he strode away into the shadows. The morning sun had cleared the horizon, but it would be some hours before it was high enough in the sky to fully penetrate the evergreen leaves above her head.

Clarke followed with her eyes, catching sight of the dangling Ice Nation soldiers above them. The prolonged blood rush to their heads made them stuporous, so they’d lost much of their fight. One close to them even developed a nosebleed from the positioning. Even if Clarke cut them down, they wouldn’t put up any appreciable resistance. Yet they were of no use to her as prisoners. If she cut them down, it would be at least an hour before they were in any state to give her information—and that was if they spoke at all.  Trained warriors would sooner die than give up their side’s secrets.

Clarke gripped her gun tighter and hoisted it into the air, and with a series of three quick pops, she dispatched the trapped Ice Nation warriors nearest to her group. Following the line of traps surrounding their camp, she fired off her remaining bullets into the remaining soldiers’ heads, execution style. Unlike Dante Wallace, this time there was no hesitation.

When she finished, Pike, Niylah, and the few station thirteen survivors left were looking at her completely aghast at what she’d just done.

They hadn’t been an immediate threat, but Clarke knew better than to let them wake. One way or another, the Ice Nation soldiers needed to die—Clarke simply chose not to delay the inevitable, no matter how callous it seemed at the moment.

She glared at the dismayed looks on the faces of the other Ark survivors. There were just ten left, eleven if Clarke counted herself. Their remaining population had been sliced in half over the course of an hour. This time, there would be no time to tend to the bodies.

“Feel free to go back to your camp if you want,” Clarke said. “If you’re coming with me, grab a weapon.”

Niylah stepped forward instantly, still clutching the rifle Clarke had given her earlier. After a moment’s hesitation, the others followed her lead, retrieving the Ice Nation guns that were scattered over the ground. In a way, it was justice: station thirteen was reclaiming its old weapons. There were more guns than people to carry them, so many grabbed a spare, including Clarke.

“Where are we going?” Pike asked.

Without anyone saying as much, it appeared that Clarke was now the defacto leader of this troubled team of vagabonds. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that responsibility again, but it was hers nonetheless.

Clarke trudged away from the dead Ice Nation soldiers swinging above her head. They would pick up the necessities from camp, and then they would leave. The others followed her without question or protest.

“Anywhere but here,” Clarke told them heavily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. The teaser came out, and I'm already Joss'ed.
> 
> I'm just going to keep going forward like nothing happened. :D


	3. Floudas

Traveling with others turned out to be more difficult than Clarke expected. When she was by herself, she could move at her own pace. If she needed to rest her feet, she stopped. If she was hungry, she ate. The strips of cured meats the grounders left for her when she was alone weren’t waiting for her when she awoke now that she was traveling with the refugees from station thirteen.

Pike and the others had been trappers and gatherers by trade, but their ropes and snares were abandoned at the old camp, and the plants and berries in these new woods were foreign to them. Niylah fell violently ill after trying a handful of tiny red berries that seemed to be growing from every corner of the forest. After that, nobody ate anything that they didn’t explicitly recognize. Their efforts at hunting failed miserably—nobody dared use their firearms in case they were overheard by the Ice Nation—so for the last two weeks, they’d been subsisting on little else besides pine bark and boiled chicory roots. It kept the pains from their stomachs but did little for morale.

On more than a few occasions, Clarke wondered whether it would have better to simply starve.

There was an unnatural calm in the forest the further south Clarke led them. Everyone noticed, but nobody mentioned it for fear of jinxing their uneventful journey. The threat of the Ice Nation started to become a more distant worry, eventually an afterthought after two weeks. When Clarke neared the plains surrounding Mount Weather, she steered her group hard east, hoping to avoid the place altogether.

She didn’t want the visual reminder of what she’d done, and she wasn’t ready to return to Camp Jaha.

The air grew warmer and increasingly moist the further east they traveled. Beads of sweat collected on the back of Clarke’s neck, and when the wind blew into their faces, the air even smelled different, cleaner somehow. The aroma of musty earth Clarke had become accustomed to on the ground began to fade as the dense growth of trees thinned, giving way to tall grass that rose above her knees. Multiple pillars of smoke rose beyond the crest of a low hill, causing their first hesitation in days.

“Ice Nation?” Niylah asked warily.

Clarke quickly counted the smoke pillars—at least ten, and there were bound to be more behind them. It could have been a camp large enough to hold the army she’d seen in the quarry, but a force that large marching under cover of darkness wouldn’t risk divulging their location for the sake of a few fires in the daytime.

“No,” Clarke answered.

“Then who are they?” Pike cut in. “More of your friends?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call the grounders my friends.”

“Huh.” His response was thinly veiled sarcasm. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

Clarke rounded on Pike, momentarily taking him aback.  He and his group were bedraggled from their long, arduous trip, and he’d lost some of his former boisterousness. To his credit however, he didn’t flinch when Clarke marched straight up to him and thrust her face within inches of his.

“Sharing a mutual enemy doesn’t make someone a _friend_. If that were the case, your being enemies with the Ice Nation makes you friends with the grounders’ commander. Are you consorting with the grounder coalition?” Clarke shot back at him.

“N—no.”

Pike and the others agreed to follow Clarke after the massacre at their camp, but after two weeks of mostly empty stomachs, sleeping on rocks and bumpy tree roots, and sore feet, tempers were starting to wear thin. They needed a bit of respite, someplace they could stop and rest with shelter over their heads, preferably with a hot, fresh meal. Whoever these people were, if they were friendly enough to offer that, Clarke didn’t much care which clan they belonged to.

“That’s what I thought.” Clarke backed away a few steps, satisfied now that he’d conceded her point. She drew her handgun from her belt, leaving the automatic rifle strapped across her shoulder. “I’m going to see who we’re dealing with. Maybe I can arrange for us to stay for a few days while we plan our next move.”

Niylah chimed in, trying to be helpful. “Do you want us to come with you?”

“No,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “One person with a gun is enough.”

Even with a gun, Clarke expected the grounders would offer her a warmer welcome than strangers they didn’t recognize. She didn’t know which clan lived here, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Clarke’s reputation preceded her in just about every corner of the earth.

She flipped off the safety and strode toward the hill as confidently as she could, calling back over her shoulder: “Stay here. Try not to get yourselves killed while I’m gone.”

Clarke gasped when she passed over the crest of the hill. The village was within full view, much more impressive than the tiny community of Tondc, but it was the vast expanse of dark blue that captured her attention—unmistakably the ocean. She’d only seen it from the windows of the Ark, but she’d memorized the rich shade of blue long ago. A faint smile graced the edges of Clarke’s lips at the sight of it.

The village itself contained the usual mashing of huts mixed with a number of boats and yachts similar to the ones Clarke saw on the movies and television programs aboard the Ark growing up. The only difference was that for some reason these were stuck on land and not in the water, almost appearing as if their hulls sprang right out of the ground. They were beaten and weather worn, but Clarke couldn’t see any obvious holes in them. She wondered how they got so far inland. After all, it wasn’t as if they could be carried or dragged that far across the soil.

In Clarke’s distraction, she nearly ran into a young boy who was so terrified of her, he had to restrain himself from screaming. Clarke kept her gun in hand but hid it beneath her cloak and out of sight. The village boy wasn’t obviously armed like she was, and he backed away slowly.

“Wait a second,” Clarke urged him. The boy clearly lived here, and if he could direct her to an upper level village official, she had a better chance of avoiding trouble with the residents. The alliance had at least given Clarke’s name some notoriety among the clan leaders. She could use that to her advantage. “Can you help me?”

He stared at her, uncomprehending and fearful.

After an awkward moment, it became clear he only spoke the grounder’s sleng. Clarke herself knew very little of it, and most of what she knew came from the alliance’s meetings preparing for war.

Clarke’s words were slow and broken as she fished them from memory. “Yu get in ai bilaik?”

His dark eyes grew wide, and he nodded. “Wanheda.” His high-pitched words were slow and reverent.

 _That answers that question_ , Clarke thought. It was fortunate for her that he recognized her face, at least. He would more readily accommodate her request.

“Teik ai gon heda?” Clarke asked him, inwardly cringing when the foreign words fell from her lips clumsily.

Clarke wasn’t sure if he would take her to his clan leader, or if he even could, but her fears were allayed when he nodded and turned on his heel, showing her through the village. They saw more villagers the further inland they went, and there were more than a few gasps and fingers pointed in Clarke’s direction as she passed. She determinedly kept her gaze on the path before her.

At least, she did until she nearly ran over the boy leading her, who’d stopped before the largest boat Clarke had ever seen. It appeared as if it was once some sort of passenger liner, as there were multiple levels of round windows in the sections of hull emerging from the ground. A ramshackle ramp led to the main deck, which was too high for Clarke to see over the top.

“Der,” he said, pointing beyond the dingy railing above them.

Clarke nodded at him. “Mochof.”

A growing crowd was assembling behind her. The whispers of “Wanheda” spreading like wildfire drew many from their tiny homes, all of them curious, awed, and the slightest bit frightened. Clarke could somehow feel their stares boring into her back. She straightened her shoulders and swallowed.

That was when she heard a voice call out from behind her. It was louder than the steady lull from her admirers, but that wasn’t why Clarke’s ears picked it up so easily. It was too eerily familiar. It was—

Her ears must have deceived her. There was no way the world was this infinitesimal.

“Jesus, Clarke,” the voice said. “You look like absolute shit.”

Clarke froze, turning around slowly. Her initial suspicions were confirmed when she saw the figure standing behind her, arms crossed with her hip jutting to one side. She hardly looked any different than the day Clarke last saw her at Camp Jaha.

Clarke gaped at her, mouth falling slightly open. “Octavia?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were no friendly greetings between the two reunited friends.

On second thought, maybe _friends_ didn’t accurately describe Octavia and Clarke anymore. They knew each other—or rather, they _used_ to know each other.

Octavia spared Clarke any disparaging remarks in front of the crowd, but her leer was accusatory the moment they’d both ascended the ramp. Predictably, Lincoln emerged from the mob seconds later to follow them.

The deck was wide enough to have fit the entire crowd below if they intended to follow them. Some unspoken rule kept them in their place, as if their presence on the vessel was forbidden. Whatever privilege allowed Octavia and Lincoln to visit the clan’s leader freely apparently Clarke enjoyed too. Two young sentries stood by the railings, their entire focus dedicated to their task, paying no mind to drama unfolding behind them. The bitterness behind Octavia’s glare made Clarke inwardly flinch.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Octavia snapped. She crossed her arms in front of herself again, like she was afraid if she didn’t rein them into her body she was liable to start swinging with her fists. Lincoln stood stoically behind her. Unlike Octavia, he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) meet Clarke’s eyes. He stared into the dark worn planks beneath their feet.

“Around,” Clarke answered lamely. Admitting she’d been overwhelmed and ran away was too shameful to say out loud.

“You’re so full of shit. Everyone was waiting for you to come back. They needed you after they got back from the mountain, and you abandoned them.”

Earth had been a series of hardships with even more hardened people. Clarke had learned to deal with others’ anger since she’d been on the ground, but Octavia’s accusation was so tremendously unfair, that all of Clarke’s usual tactfulness fell by the wayside. Each of Clarke’s worst memories with Octavia flashed vividly in her mind—her scornful words after Clarke allowed the missile to strike Tondc, the way she attacked Clarke for nurturing the alliance that fell apart at Mount Weather, and now… for having dared to reach the limits of her sanity. Any one of those moments Clarke would have been able to dismiss, but in aggregation, Octavia’s latest charges against her were intolerable.

Clarke’s vision briefly flashed red. The gun she’d been gripping so tightly at her side emerged from underneath the cloak resting on her shoulders, pointing squarely at her old friend. Octavia, who clearly hadn’t expected that reaction from Clarke, backed away warily, her movement stopping only when she stumbled against Lincoln’s chest.

“I didn’t _abandon_ anybody,” Clarke said firmly, her eyes wild with a new kind of implacable rage. “The Mountain Men were dead. Everyone was safe. Everyone _is_ safe. If they were in danger, I would have gone back.”

“And you’re psychic now too? How can you know how the camp is doing when you’re miles away?”

“Igor told me,” Clarke replied without thinking.

Lincoln’s head snapped up in interest. His eyes searched Clarke’s curiously, before asking, “Igor… The chief of Hongedakru?”

Clarke and Octavia both stared at him in bewilderment, temporarily forgetting their quarrel with each other.

Clarke’s group had been in the Hongedakru forest at the time, so him being the clan’s leader was a distinct possibility. But Igor had never introduced himself as chief. How many in one clan could have realistically shared that same name? Igor had seemed intimidating enough, and perhaps that was why. That might also explain Lincoln’s tensed expression.

“I guess so,” Clarke answered. “Is that a problem?”

Lincoln shook his head and directed his glance back to the same spot beneath his feet. He seemed to believe his reaction had been out of line, which was odd. “Hongedakru is farther than a week’s distance on foot.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“They don’t usually send scouts so far to the south,” Lincoln said. “They’ve never been threatened by any of the southern clans. And they’re north of Mason-Dixon, so they’ve never been in danger of Mount Weather’s missiles either.”

“After everything that has happened, can you blame them for being cautious?” Clarke asked.

“No. But it’s curious that he shared that information with you.” Lincoln’s eyes narrowed, obviously deep in thought. “The Hongeda are not particularly well known for their hospitality. The forests to the north are wild and don’t normally attract many visitors.”

If there were many other beasts hidden in the forest like the enormous panther that had attacked Clarke and the northern Ark survivors, that didn’t come as much of a surprise. Given the choice, any sane person would have given their territory a wide berth. Between radiation enhanced panthers or a full complement of Ice Nation soldiers, Clarke wasn’t sure which was the greater danger.

Clarke’s reply caught in her throat. From a doorway behind Octavia and Lincoln emerged a grounder woman and a cadre of officers following closely behind her. One passing glance at her stature, the  pauldron over her shoulder, and the red sash flowing from it was enough for a leaden weight to drop inside Clarke’s belly, but upon closer inspection, this was not Lexa at all.

She was considerably older, and her hair was loosely pulled back into a similar web of braids. Yet in addition to being several shades darker than Lexa’s, this woman’s hair was also graying considerably at the temples. She might have been a decade older than Clarke’s own mother. Her face bore a severe look that would have made Clarke shrink away if she wasn’t so shocked by her sudden appearance. The moment Lincoln and Octavia noticed her arrival, they hurried out of her path, huddling together by the railing overlooking the crowd below.

Judging by the proud way she carried herself, this woman had to be the clan’s leader. Her officers fanned out behind her when she stopped, forming an wide, impassable front on the boat’s deck. She was several inches taller than Clarke, but it felt like much, much more. Clarke swallowed nervously and cast an unsure glance toward Lincoln and Octavia, who looked equally as intimidated by the sudden arrival of the clan’s leader.

She hoped that she just imagined the annoyance on this woman’s face. There were distinct laugh lines visible around the edges of her mouth and crinkles around the corners of her eyes that softened her appearance, but more prominent was the frown she cast in Clarke’s direction.

“Well, if it isn’t the great _Wanheda_ we’ve all heard so much about,” the woman said tetchily. Octavia rolled her eyes hugely at the new title, but nobody else paid her any notice. “I’m surprised to see you this far south of the Sky People camp.”

“I haven’t been there in almost two months,” Clarke said.

“So I’ve heard.” The older woman passed a furtive glance at Octavia, obviously the source of that particular bit of information. “It brings me relief to hear you haven’t played a role in your people’s most recent indiscretions. Indeed, if you had, I believe your welcome from my people would have been considerably less warm.”

Clarke stared back at the clan leader in bewilderment, and a shock passed through her body like an electrical current at the mention of her people back at camp. What was she talking about? Did it have anything to do with Octavia’s sudden need to look away toward the ocean behind them?

She didn’t get the opportunity to ask, however.

“My name is Luna,” the woman said. Once she realized Clarke didn’t arrive to challenge her authority or cause an upheaval, her tone softened perceptibly. “There’s no sense in asking who you are. A better question might be why of all the places in this world, you’ve decided to visit Floudonkru.”

For some reason, mentioning a sizable battalion of Ice Nation soldiers marching vaguely south at that moment, in front of a crowd no less, didn’t seem like the best idea in the world. Clarke wanted Luna’s hospitality. Octavia and Lincoln were probably granted acceptance through their personal connections, but Clarke needed bargaining power. Information was the only asset Clarke had for negotiations. She decided to play that to her advantage.

“I didn’t much care for the weather in Hongedakru,” Clarke lied, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not used to the cold.”

Luna predictably caught onto her act. She too narrowed her eyes in response. “You seem dressed well enough to endure the northern winters.”

Clarke shrugged. “The snow was a bit much.”

“I see…”

Luna’s dark eyes searched Clarke’s intently, hoping to uncover some hidden meaning behind her words. Clarke kept her face impassive, betraying nothing. She wanted a private audience to plead her case and wasn’t going to settle for anything less. Luna understood that Clarke was purposefully withholding from her, and after a few more uncomfortable moments of silence, conceded to her unspoken request.

“Why don’t we discuss this in private?” When Clarke nodded, Luna made a wide gesture with her arms to dismiss her officers. “Wait at the docks. I will join you there after we are finished,” she assured them.

Luna led Clarke down a dark stairwell to the levels below. At some point, the corridor must have had lights, but those were long since broken. Having just been surrounded by the sunny daylight outside, Clarke could hardly see anything while her eyes adjusted. She followed the sound of the soft footsteps in front of her. Luna knew the route well enough to traverse the path with her eyes closed.

When Clarke’s eyes finally did acclimate to the dark environment, she noticed that Luna wasn’t watching over her shoulder, nor was she visibly carrying a weapon. Clarke had a gun in hand with a rifle strapped across her back. If Floudonkru’s leader had any concerns for her personal safety, she didn’t show it.

The door stuck on the jamb, and Luna had to give it a healthy thrust with her shoulder to pry it open. Sunlight beamed inside from three circular windows on the far side of the room. Clarke thought they might be on the bottom level, but there was no way to see. The windows had moist, salty air trapped between the panes, which heavily clouded the scene outside. Perhaps the extra bit of privacy was why Luna chose this particular room. Other than two crude wooden benches situated at opposite ends of the room, there was nothing inside. The wallpaper was nearly completely torn off, and the dust swirled the moment Luna entered. Clarke sat across from her without prompting, already sweating bullets in the warm, stuffy room.

“What is it that you’re after?” Luna asked without preamble. After Clarke spent two months in the north, she wasn’t buying her story about suddenly taking offense to the weather.

“I want shelter here,” Clarke said.

“That’s it?”

“And food.”

Luna glanced at Clarke appraisingly for a moment, folding her hands together across her lap. “If that was all you wanted, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say so in front of my generals. I’ve always liked to consider myself a fair leader. Even if your request is unreasonable, you won’t be harmed for candidness.”

In a way, it was ridiculous for Clarke to be concerned about being rejected. She had two guns easily within reach. If Luna was carrying a knife somewhere beneath her coat, it was well hidden.

“That really is all that I’m asking for.” Clarke swallowed thickly. “For myself… and my friends.”

Luna waited expectantly for Clarke to explain, but she didn’t. She glanced around the room in bewilderment, as if she were looking for another person in the room with them.

“I didn’t see any others with you. Did you not arrive alone?”

Clarke shook her head.

“I see,” Luna said. “Are they invisible? Octavia suggested that you might have gone a bit mad after you defeated Mount Weather and left by yourself, but I never imagined—”

“They’re waiting beyond the hill outside the village.”

Luna’s air of concern evaporated. Clarke was a known entity to the grounders; these unnamed individuals were most certainly not. Luna’s rapid transformation from a personable, charismatic woman to a calculating, hardened tactician was sorely familiar. Clarke did her best not to think about who it reminded her of.

“How many?” Luna asked, as terse and efficient as possible.

“Ten.”

“Which clan?”

“Sky People.”

“And are they armed, as you are?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m afraid we have a problem,” Luna said. “My people will never stand for it.”

The clan leader rose from her designated bench, and for a second Clarke thought there would be a confrontation. Instead, Luna headed toward the door. Clarke leapt from her seat and barricaded the door before she could open it. She didn’t flinch at the ferocious leer Luna passed her way.

“Wait a second,” Clarke pleaded. “The Sky People weren’t the ones that abandoned the alliance. If your clan has a problem with my people, you can talk to your commander about that. The Sky People traveling with me landed in the north. They weren’t part of the alliance or even at Mount Weather to begin with.”

Luna shook her head. “There are no Sky People left in the north. Queen Nia eliminated them years ago.”

“Not all of them.” As an afterthought, Clarke added, “How did you even know about that anyway?”

“I have been leader of this clan longer than you have been alive.”

Clarke’s eyes were alight with a number of unasked questions. Luna recognized her intense curiosity, realizing the only way she would leave this room without breaking Clarke in half or cutting her throat (which wouldn’t bode well with her people) was to speak with her. Luna backed away slowly, and on the short walk back to her bench, she started to unfasten the straps and buckles holding her armor and jacket in place. Clarke interpreted her actions as an invitation to make herself more comfortable as well. She removed her own fur cloak and jacket from around her shoulders, finding instant relief once the skin of her arms was exposed to the stale air.

Luna was already seated with her overcoat folded at her side by the time Clarke found her place on the bench, and one sight of her made Clarke visibly flinch. She tried to stop the gasp that escaped her mouth, but she was a moment too late.

Clarke knew about the grounders’ kill scars. She’d first seen them on a girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. Predictably, Luna had more. Many, many more.

The dark shirt she wore underneath had the sleeves torn off for comfort, and its neckline plunged further down than her cinched overcoat suggested. Tiny darkened burn marks cover the majority of Luna’s left side, with literally hundreds of scars peppering her tanned skin. It was difficult to tell where the marks began, but they ended just above her left wrist.

It wasn’t repulsion that fueled Clarke’s intense reaction. It was fear. Suddenly, Luna appeared far more deadly than she had just moments before.

Luna’s voice, however, was kind when she spoke again.

“War was an inevitability for our clan for many years,” she said. “We didn’t always have an alliance to lean on for protection.”

It’s the only explanation that Luna could give and the only one she needed to. Clarke simply nodded.

“Even if what you’re saying is true, and your northern Sky People haven’t raised a fist against our clans,” Luna continued, “I will have a difficult time convincing my people of that. Especially after what your people did in the days following the battle.”

This was the second time Luna alluded to some grave offense done by the Sky People. During her weeks long trip, she’d been oblivious to the happenings in the outside world, but she found it hard to believe that her mother or Kane would have authorized some deliberate assault against their former allies. It would have only invited further conflict.

“What did they do?” Clarke asked.

“You really haven’t heard?” Luna asked disbelievingly.

“No.”

It took a moment before Luna answered, as if she were carefully considering her words before saying them aloud.

“After our prisoners emerged from the mountain, every last one of them returned to the capital, as did our warriors. Once we determined that the Maunon were defeated, that our path home was safe, we started our return journey home. For those that lived far away, it was no easy trip. Those of us who had the means rode on horseback. The others banded together and traveled on foot.”

Clarke had an inkling where the story was headed, but she listened anyway. Unfortunately, the story Luna told was far worse than the theory Clarke had imagined.

“A travel party of one hundred sixty civilians was headed south. Many of them belonged to my clan—others from Staungedakru, Trigedakru, or Graunakru. They were all struck down by a missile from the mountain. Imagine our confusion then, when all of our scouts assured us the Maunon had been defeated.

“At first we thought the scouts must have been misinformed about Mount Weather’s demise, that some of the Maunon must have survived the battle and were starting to mount a resistance. It wasn’t until Octavia and Lincoln arrived that I was given a true account of what happened.” Luna’s voice then turned hard as steel. “The Sky People from your camp now rule the mountain. They do so even less honorably than their predecessors.”

Clarke wanted to argue the charges made against her friends. She couldn’t imagine herself stepping foot inside that godforsaken place again, much less the others wanting to stay there either. Even those who hadn’t directly participated in the fight saw unspeakable things in the mountain. They couldn’t possibly want to live there now.

Except it seemed they really did. When Clarke tried to defend her friends, Luna explained with a pained expression, “My second, Remy, led a team to investigate Octavia’s claim. The one they call ‘Jasper’ carved the word _traitor_ across his chest.”

After hearing this, Clarke had no further rebuttal. Thinking about it made her ill. “I didn’t know,” she offered. Nothing else she could possibly say seemed sufficient.

“My question to you is this—why visit my villages _now_? You were in the north for months, and then you get the inexplicable urge to seek refuge with my people to the south, bypassing your own camp to the west,” Luna fixed her with a searching glare. “What happened?”

“We were attacked.”

“By Hongedakru?” Luna seemed nonplussed at the very idea.

Clarke shook her head. “The Ice Nation.”

Luna’s eyes widened momentarily. “What on earth possessed you to go willingly to Azgeda?”

“We didn’t. Their army was marching south when we ran across them. We’ve been running from them ever since.”

The news came as a surprise to Luna, but she took it in stride. Clarke could already see the gears turning in her head. How she needed to use this information, what it could possibly mean… Luna lost herself in her thoughts, only realizing after a long, uncomfortable silence that Clarke was still present.

“If there were only ten others at your disposal, I can see why you fled. With an army at your heels, I imagine the journey was difficult.” Luna scrutinized Clarke’s appearance more closely.

Clarke had seen her reflection in a puddle a few days back and hardly recognized herself. Her cheekbones were slightly protruding from the weight she’d lost, and her skin was a few shades darker—likely some combination of the constant sun exposure and the mixture of dirt and blood that had accumulated on her face.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you look like death,” Luna said. “You smell like it too,” she added, crinkling her nose.

“What is it that you want from me?” Clarke asked in exasperation.

Luna considered the request for a minute. Her words were slow and careful when she spoke again.“If Azgedakru is indeed on the march and the Sky People are now our enemies, those of us clans left in the alliance are in a precarious position. We stand on the edge of a war, but none of knows where the first strike will be made.”

“Igor mentioned Rifgedakru and Maungedakru.”

“Titus and Knox were particularly unhappy about Lexa’s decision to leave Mount Weather. It wouldn’t surprise me if Igor was right; he usually is about these things. But those on my council begin to grow restless as well. After what Skaikru has done to them, after retreating from the mountain, they seek to march headlong into battle, but they don’t understand there is no way they would win, much less survive. They are far too headstrong.”

Luna’s people took offense to Skaikru’s attack, but they couldn’t retaliate against the heavily fortified mountain. The range of their tactical missiles would keep any sizable force from reaching Camp Jaha. Loath as Clarke was to admit it, Mount Weather was the perfect military outpost. Igor was right—her people were were safe, at least. No matter how regrettable their decision to inhabit the mountain had been.

As Luna later explained, leading an attack on the mountain front would not be fortuitous for them. Most of her clan members were boaters and fishermen by trade. Traversing across miles of land and being outnumbered by their enemies whilst fighting along dangerous terrain (from downhill, no less) was a recipe for disaster. Luna’s boats couldn’t access the rocky river shoals in Rifgedakru either, so they would be fighting on foot again in unfamiliar territory if they invaded Titus’s clan.

“I can persuade my council to allow you and your friends quarter, but I would have make two conditions,” Luna said.

Clarke sat up straighter on her seat. This was what she’d hoped for. “What are they?”

“Your friends must relinquish their weapons if they wish to set foot in our villages. If they instigate any violence here, they will pay for it with their lives. Once they left us, their weapons would be returned to them.”

“And mine?” Clarke raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“That would not be necessary. My people do not have any quarrel with you, as I mentioned. Quite the contrary, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Luna actually cracked a tiny smile, finally showing off the friendly wrinkles around her mouth. “Many here would consider you the foremost expert on warfare after your improbable victory at the mountain.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped open, but she quickly closed it again before Luna could add any commentary. Judging by the amused look on her face, she knew better. Clarke was logical, opportunistic, shrewd, and desperation could make her one of the most formidable foes in existence, but she was no military or combat expert.

“I’ve heard quite enough about you to know you’ve had no such training,” Luna said. “But the fact remains, you are well respected here, and you’re position as an highly esteemed ally would be ideal for my second request.”

“Which is?”

“You will attend our council’s daily briefings, as we would expect of any foreign dignitary. I need you to persuade the council against any direct military action. We should not be willingly sacrificing our people to a war that is not needed.”

That sounded too simple.

Even when Clarke was brainstorming a plan for invading Mount Weather, she’d received considerable pushback from the grounder generals in the war room, and that had been when Lexa was still on her side—the Commander of the twelve clans, and arguably the most powerful person alive. Clarke would be up against the same scrutiny, but this time, all she would have was her own reputation and a single clan leader on her side.

Doubt was etched all over Clarke’s face. She didn’t know if she could pull it off, or what would happen if she failed.

“You won’t fail, Clarke,” Luna said, almost as if she read her mind.

“It won’t be long before they find out I don’t know even half as much as I’ll be pretending to.”

“That I can help you with, if you’re willing,” Luna said to Clarke’s surprise. “My sources tell me you’re a quick study. That will come in handy for you.”

“And who told you that?” Clarke asked.

Luna answered her question with a smirk. “Do you accept the deal or not?” she asked.

There wasn’t much point debating. Clarke’s options were limited, as were the others’ she was traveling with. There was no way she was returning to her people now, not with them taking over Mount Weather and waging open war less than a month after massacring the mountain men. Whoever was in charge—Clarke shuddered at the possibility of it being her own mother—couldn’t be reasoned with anymore. Not after what they’d done.

She could take to the forest again, and keep walking south until nobody recognized her or knew her name, or until there was no more terrain left to explore. Simply live of whatever sustenance Earth provided.

But Clarke was tired of running.

She stood up confidently and walked toward Luna, who appeared genuinely taken aback by the gesture. Eventually she grudgingly stood up as well.

 Clarke extended her hand out in front of her and held it even in midair. The Sky People custom of shaking hands to seal agreements was no mystery to the clans after their brief alliance, yet still Luna did not take it right away. She examined Clarke’s proffered hand skeptically, keeping her own at her sides.

“I accept,” Clarke said.

“Good,” Luna responded. She continued to refrain from taking Clarke’s outstretched hand. “You can find my second, Remy, down at the docks. He will arrange lodging for you and your friends.”

A long silence engulfed the two leaders in the stuffy room, which only grew increasingly uncomfortable the longer it stretched on. Clarke vividly recalled receiving similar treatment from Anya during their first arranged meeting on the bridge. Only now, Clarke was less naïve than she was months ago.

“My people shake hands to signify a deal,” Clarke supplied unnecessarily.

Luna hesitated several moments longer, but eventually, she grasped Clarke’s hand and gave it a perfunctory squeeze. It was over quickly, and then she was headed toward the door.

“There is a piece of old bridge collapsed on the beach. Five minutes due north of it, there will be an open field,” Luna called out over her shoulder. “Meet me there at dawn, and I can start to fill you in on what you’ll need to know.”

“I’ll be there,” Clarke promised.

“Oh, and Clarke?”

“Hmm?”

Luna paused for a moment, considering how to phrase her next words as politely as possible. Eventually, she simply gave up. “You need to bathe before tomorrow if you expect anyone to take you seriously. Can you handle that?”

Clarke blushed, though it wasn’t visible underneath the grime covering her skin. “I will.”


	4. The Insurrection

A new semblance of normal started for Clarke during the coming weeks, different than ever before but not altogether unpleasant. Luna kept true to her word, and every morning, when the air was cool and there was a fresh layer of dew in the grass, she would teach Clarke about the inner workings of their society. The more well prepared Clarke was in the meetings, the less room others had to question her expertise.

Most of what Clarke learned was the history of the alliance. Floudonkru had been especially burdened during the alliance’s early days, mostly because of their location. They could easily move up and down the coast on their boats, so the former Commander often called upon them to fight on his behalf. Without fail, Luna always answered the orders. She nearly always won whatever fray she sailed her warriors into, but it was never without a cost. The scars she’d earned had been proof of that. The families in her clan regularly paid the price.

However, the brief peace they’d experienced in the past two years had allowed Floudonkru to flourish. The families were no longer broken apart right and left. A new generation of children were not growing up as orphans. Instead of constantly retooling for another battle, they focused on their trades. They fished, they hunted, they crafted goods, and they made _art_.

At Clarke’s beckoning, Luna even introduced her to some of their finest painters and sculptors one afternoon, who were equally enamored by the opportunity to meet the elusive _Wanheda_. After the end of their meeting, most were eager to gift Clarke with as many supplies as she could carry, and in one day, she collected enough paint, charcoal, and paper to last her at least a month, if not more.

Clarke had also reached a tentative truce with Octavia, for whatever it was worth.

Leaving Camp Jaha had been a decision she’d made for herself, and to some extent, she understood Octavia’s anger, even though it stung. Despite her people’s safety, it wasn’t easy for Clarke to hear what they’d done at the mountain in her absence. On the third day, when Clarke had asked Octavia what happened back at camp that caused her to leave, she fully expected Octavia to berate her yet again.

What Clarke didn’t expect was for Octavia’s tough facade to completely shatter, which was exactly what happened the moment the question left Clarke’s mouth.

It had been a confusing moment—Octavia _said_ nothing during the ordeal, and it lasted less than a minute—but when it was over, she was a little less bitter and a little less angry. Clarke hoped she wasn’t imagining it, but she thought there might have been some understanding there as well. With Luna’s permission, Clarke chanced inviting Octavia to join her during meetings with the Floudonkru generals.

Octavia contributed nothing to the daily discussions they had, but her inclusion at the meetings seemed to be the catalyst for rebuilding what had broken between her and Clarke. After the first meeting, Octavia even sat next to Clarke at dinner. They still didn’t talk much, but they’d made a start at least. Clarke would take it—one person from home that didn’t rekindle the overwhelming guilt she’d been fighting so hard to keep at bay.

She could now interpret most of the Trigedasleng spoken in the meeting. Octavia would whisper the unfamiliar translations in her ear, and eventually, Clarke learned enough to be passably conversational.

Each day Clarke woke up and tried again, and each day improvements came in increments.

After just one week of her new morning routine, Clarke no longer required an attendant to wake her. Without prompting, she got up as she did every morning, got dressed and headed to the field, where she expected another one of Luna’s lessons about the day’s topic of discussion.

 Yesterday, she attended a forum on the state of trade within the coalition. She’d familiarized herself with every clan, their leaders, and their main resources, with particular interest to how they interacted with Floudonkru’s trade market. These were the intricacies Clarke never noticed when she’d been at war with them, but the grounders had made impressive advances as a society.

Luna wasn’t waiting with a pleasant greeting when Clarke arrived this morning, and she instantly knew that something was amiss. For all of Luna’s posturing during the meetings, Clarke had been asked to contribute little thus far. It simply hadn’t been necessary.

That was about to change.

“Don’t bother sitting,” Luna told her, stopping Clarke before she took up her usual place on a fallen tree trunk lining the empty field.

That was an ominous sign. This was the first morning that started off without a greeting. Clarke froze while Luna paced back and forth, wearing a path in the long grass beneath her feet.

“We don’t have time, but I needed a quick word out of earshot,” Luna said. “The general’s meeting has been rescheduled first thing this morning.”

“Why?” Clarke asked.

“We will discuss that soon enough. You remember what I told you about your main objective?”

“No jumping into battle. That was pretty much clear from day one.”

“You would do well to remember it. I fear the debate this morning will be particularly heated.”

“Did something happen?” Clarke asked with growing concern. She hadn’t been in Floudonkru very long, but she’d met enough of the villagers to be concerned for their safety.

Luna nodded. “Our riders returned from the reconnaissance mission I sent them on last week. There has been movement on the eastern front toward the capital.”

It looked as if Igor’s prediction was coming to fruition after all. The coalition was starting to splinter. Even the timing was precise. Had it really been a month since Clarke had first seen him in the forest?

A tall, gangly young man came sprinting into the open field, breathing heavily from the exertion. Even from a considerable distance, Clarke could recognize him as Remy, Luna’s second. He was the only one in the entire village who had auburn hair, and he was the only other besides Octavia and Lincoln who knew where Clarke and Luna disappeared to in the mornings.

Luna watched him expectantly, growing fidgety as he bent forward to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

“The council is looking for both of you,” he gasped.

Luna raised an eyebrow toward Clarke. “Are you ready?”

Clarke nodded.

“Good. Then let us go.”

Luna and Clarke didn’t run or even jog back to the village, but they moved faster than Luna’s usual dignified pace. Someone must have started a rumor within the village itself because unlike the sleepy place it had been moments ago, there were now civilians pressing into the narrow paths separating the grounded boats. The moment Luna and Clarke came into view, they were instantly surrounded. Questions about war were being shouted at them from every angle. They pushed forward through the mass of bodies.

Clarke noticed Octavia and Lincoln among with onlookers, both wearing worried expressions. Clarke wasn’t sure how much they’d heard—maybe it was even more than Clarke—but she called Octavia over to join her. Octavia muttered a quick thanks before pushing toward the ramp leading up to Luna’s passenger liner. Thankfully, that was the barrier for most of the crowd, and once the three women ascended the ramp onto the deck, they were left quite alone.

They descended the familiar staircase. Instead of the abandoned, stuffy cabin Clarke saw on her last visit, the council was congregated into a larger, brighter, airier room. The floor was dingy, but the wood was finished and patterned beneath her feet. There were also a number of handcrafted chairs arranged in a circle. Luna, Clarke, and Octavia migrated to the last three empty ones and hastily took their seats.

Luna took control of the initial portion of the meeting.

Octavia and Clarke watched wide-eyed as they listened to the scout team’s account. They reported hundreds of Maungedakru soldiers arriving to the Rifgedakru camp, all armed to the teeth. Preparations were being visibly made for upcoming battle. Weapons were being serviced. Horses were being fitted for armor and shoes to offer protection against the paved streets in Polis. Food from the storehouses was being separated into rations for travel.

The preparations neared completion, and the scouts surmised, with agreement of many warlords present, that they would soon make their move on Polis—a matter of days at most.

Luna’s most senior general, Tobias, stood after the head scout finished giving the update. He looked every bit the warrior. Stout, battle worn, and keenly alert.

“So it has come to this,” he said, elevating his voice so the entire room could easily hear. “The insurrection has begun, just as we feared it would. We should decide how to act on this new information. If we move today, we can have our forces at Polis in time for battle. The coalition requires our assistance.”

Luna appeared positively bored with his line of reasoning. “You forget that our presence in the capital was not requested.”

“Are we just to let the alliance crumble?”

“Don’t twist my words, Tobias. Unlike anyone else in attendance today, I remember the last time clans staged an attack on Polis. I fought in that battle when I was still in my training. It didn’t end well for the aggressors.”

“Then I don’t understand why we won’t fight!” he lamented, to a murmuring of assent.

The city of Polis had never fallen in battle. It was the only city from the old world that survived the apocalypse mostly intact. After the nuclear fallout, the first survivors flocked to Polis for refuge. The territorial disputes started later, when the population outgrew its walls.

The main entrance stood wide, but there were always enough soldiers to defend it. There was little to gain and much to lose by storming the city.

“Say something,” Octavia muttered into Clarke’s ear.

Then Clarke remembered; if Floudonkru sent warriors to Polis, she and Lincoln would probably be among them. Luna would leave. Would Clarke be expected to go also?

Clarke stood, and the room fell silent. Perhaps the others were too intimidated to speak over her. If  they only knew how uncomfortable their undivided attention made her. Luna watched with keen interest, allowing herself a slight smirk when Tobias sat down at once.

“Your citizens have thrived without having to constantly answer the call to war,” she said. “Think of them, if nothing else.”

“And what does Wanheda think about the possibility of the alliance breaking?” Tobias asked with a hint of exasperation. “If we decide not to act, are we welcoming a change in the alliance’s leadership?”

“Those are your words, not mine.”

Octavia tried to cover up a snicker, but in the otherwise hushed room, it was easily audible. A couple of the older generals shot her dirty looks, but none of them openly chastised her.

“Besides,” Clarke said, “how many warriors would you plan on sending?”

Tobias’s prompt answer indicated he and his comrades had been colluding together for some time. “Three hundred by boat. By land, we could have up to five hundred warriors to Polis within the week.”

“And how do you propose sneaking five hundred past the mountain if they’ve shown they won’t hesitate to attack you with missiles?”

“Why don’t you ask _her_?” Tobias jeered, pointing to Octavia, who instantly shrank down in her seat.

The entire room stared quizzically at Octavia except for Tobias and Luna, who were clearly already privy to some inside information. It irked Clarke that Luna didn’t tell her what was going on—especially after everything else she’d  taught her—but Luna accepted Clarke’s glare without any hint of apology.

“Octavia?” Clarke frowned. “What is he talking about?”

Once Octavia recovered from the shock of the accusation, she directed her answer at Tobias. “For your information, I left Mount Weather after my brother sent the missiles at your traveling party. He wouldn’t dare hurt me. The only thing keeping the Sky People at Mount Weather from attacking your clans right now is the fact that he doesn’t know where I’m staying.”

A wave of nausea rolled through Clarke’s stomach. She found her seat and rested her elbows across her knees. Of all the people who could have authorized the attack… It had been _Bellamy_? All the talk about sharing the burden, about not letting the atrocities they committed to survive define them was nullified. What they’d done wasn’t in the name of survival. How could he claim they weren’t monsters when they killed willingly and with impunity?

“I told him I would come back to Camp Jaha once they left the mountain for good,” Octavia said.

“And yet they have not done so for months,” Tobias argued. “They are quite content to lord over the lands surrounding mountain like the Maunon before them. Not even Trigedakru dares to approach their own western border.”

Unfortunately, Clarke realized he was right. Octavia was the one person Bellamy would go to the ends of the earth for. She hadn’t reneged on her promise, yet the mountain stayed under Bellamy’s command. They were at a stalemate.

Bellamy and Octavia were both proud and stubborn, but this was unusual behavior, even for the two of them.

“We have to assume that an attack would come from Mount Weather,” Clarke said, to general agreement. “But if an army was sent north by boat, there might be an even worse danger waiting when you went ashore.”

Despite having a direct connection to the ocean, no boats could harbor directly in Polis, Clark learned. Massive battleships from the old world were washed into the shallows of the harbor and blocked other boats from entering. The next closest territory was Worgedakru.

“What danger is that?” Tobias asked.

“An Azgedakru army marched through the quarry one month ago, headed south east. They were armed just like Sky People.”

That bit of news bewildered most everyone else in the room—everyone except Clarke and Luna. Fearful whispers broke out from every corner of the room mixed with expletives in the grounders’ sleng.

“Our scouts saw nothing of the sort when we surveyed the clans to the north,” Tobias said.

“You can ask Pike if you don’t believe me,” Clarke countered.

On second thought, maybe Pike wasn’t the best choice. He’d made no secret of his distrust for the grounders, no matter which clan they belonged to. Since their arrival to Floudonkru, he accepted their food and their shelter, but he isolated himself during daylight hours.

“Or you can ask Niylah.”

“Even if there _is_ an army like you mentioned,” Tobias said, “how can we know they will be waiting to strike when we land?”

“We can’t know,” Clarke admitted. “But are you willing to take that risk?”

Her question hung in the air for several painful moments, met with pure silence. Most of the generals Clarke spotted who’d been in favor of attack now glanced amongst each other uneasily.

“Let us have a vote,” Tobias said. “All those in favor of sending our army to battle on behalf of the alliance?”

Tobias raised his hand proudly in the air. There was only one other, who seemed far more unsure of his decision.

Clarke said, “And all opposed?”

All the others raised their hands in the air swiftly. Tobias looked mildly put out by the decision, but he accepted it.

“Very well. We will reconvene tomorrow at the usual time,” he said.

The other generals all seemed to want to have a private talk with Clarke after the meeting. Most asked her about what she’d seen in the quarry and were shocked when Clarke regaled them with the story of the attack and fleeing through the Hongedakru forests. They respected _her_. Not Clarke as an extension of Lexa’s alliance, not as the leader of Skaikru, and not because anyone was ordering them to do so. By the time the generals filtered out of the large room, Luna was the only one left. They were surrounded by a circle of empty chairs from the meeting.

“I said you wouldn’t fail, did I not?” Luna said proudly.

Clarke was all smiles for a moment. Then reality struck again, which dampened her enthusiasm. “Floudonkru will still fight if the Commander asks, won’t they? So this may have all been for nothing.”

“I have been a supporter of this alliance from its inception, Clarke. The only reason that it continues to exist despite even the best plans to tear it apart is because of the Commander. I may not agree with every decision that Lexa has made, but there is a reason she is Commander, and I am not.” Luna’s dark eyes appraised Clarke’s increasing distress. She was perceptive and deduced the reason for her troubles. “I understand that your judgment may be clouded by what transpired at Mount Weather, but I would ask, for the continued welfare of my people, that you put your personal matters aside and continue to at least _respect_ the alliance—in all of its aspects.”

“I can’t forgive her,” Clarke said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“So if a messenger arrives from Polis tomorrow, asking Floudonkru to fight, I’m supposed to—”

“You will do nothing. If I’m given an order, there will be nothing left to discuss. I would send my army to Polis at once.” She paused briefly. “The worst part is it might not matter either way in a few weeks.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked.

Luna sighed, and her spirited demeanor grew unusually solemn. “This battle is the beginning—the spark. It might burn into embers, or it could end up setting the entire forest ablaze. If Azgeda is involved, I fear it may ultimately be the latter.” She gave Clarke a serious look. “You have not met Queen Nia. She has a talent for causing death and destruction that even I find disturbing.”

Clarke nodded. “It sounds like she and I have that in common.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In addition to the sword Lexa usually kept at her bedside, these days she also took to sleeping with her knife sheathed and fastened at her forearm. Her room was constantly guarded and housed within one of the sturdiest remaining buildings in Polis. It was taller than any of the others surrounding it, with an intact roof, pillars, and heavy brick walls without holes, but for the first time in many years, the extra protection was necessary.

Nobody had made an official attempt on Lexa’s life yet, but there were mutterings, even in Polis. Despite the lives she’d saved, her deal with the Maunon did not resonate well with her people. The two most hostile clans after the retreat at Mount Weather were openly moving toward the capital, likely to arrive in the coming days.

Most were wise enough not to openly challenge Lexa. She’d spilled enough blood during her forging of the alliance for every clan to know of her impeccable record in battle. But Titus and Knox, who always claimed to have the best interests of the coalition at heart, were too headstrong for their own good. They clung to their old ways like a child to their mother and couldn’t fathom change.

It was a pity. Their armies were strong and devoted, but Lexa would be forced to push them back. It wouldn’t be a victory she relished. Unlike Titus and Knox, Lexa saw her enemy combatants as who they really were: her own people.

Lexa gave strict orders to her officers to capture the leaders first and give the regular infantry soldiers a chance to surrender and rededicate themselves to the alliance. If they were merely following the orders of their superiors, they would be given an opportunity for pardon. Pardons were unheard of according to their customs, but these were strange times. With an already battered alliance, executing hundreds more just to demonstrate her authority would only invite further rebellion. Lexa had to be fair and just, no matter how despicably these clans were behaving.

And if Lexa could persuade many of them to rededicate themselves to the alliance, she would benefit in the long run. Rifgedakru and Maungedakru were home to some of the more skilled fighters in the coalition.

She gripped the war table in front her with a white-knuckled grip, waving Indra forward, who just returned to the city. Instead of sleeping, Lexa poured over her maps for hours, which were covered by notes she scribbled down after the last scouting report. More riders returned yesterday evening with news from the rebel camp, and Indra brought the latest batch of updates. Dawn broke barely an hour ago, and Polis was still mostly asleep.

“What have your scouts discovered?” Lexa asked her.

“They stayed in Rifgedakru, as we expected,” Indra said. “Titus welcomed the Maungedakru army last night. Shortly after they arrived, Knox and his generals held a meeting at his tent.”

“Did your scouts pick up any intelligence from the meeting?”

“They could not get close enough to overhear without risking exposure, Heda. The only conversations they heard were of a social nature.” Indra looked away awkwardly, which didn’t escape Lexa’s notice.

“Does my uncle have anything interesting to say these days?”

“Titus says that you have deserted your principles as Commander by consorting with coalition’s sworn enemy. He says that you knowingly failed to exact justice on them according to our laws.”

Lexa indulged herself an insult underneath her breath, far too low for Indra’s ears to hear.

“Is there talk of insurrection in the other clans?” Lexa asked. Scouts were at a premium after the battle at Mount Weather. The world was now shrouded in uncertainty, and intelligence was priceless. Her entire plan depended on the information they provided.

“None that we noticed, Heda.”

Lexa gave her a skeptical look.

“We were very thorough,” Indra assured her. “There have been no advancements in the outlying clans. They don’t fortify their defenses. They either don’t know of the coming rebellion or they wait to see what will become of it.”

That would have to do for now. Between Indra’s Trigedakru army, which arrived unannounced the week before, and the Kapgedas, the permanent force living within Polis, they had enough to outnumber the enemies stationed at her uncle’s camp. More warriors ensured a victory, but they weren’t a necessity.

Lexa turned her attention back to her map of Polis. She frowned in thought, captured by a new plan to blockade the city’s western entrance, easily its largest vulnerability to invaders. A temporary wall couldn’t stop everyone, but it would slow the influx of fighters into the square. From there, Lexa’s archers could pick them off easily from the rooftops. If Lexa could drive them back and capture their leaders, she could preserve the alliance without another drop of another clan’s blood being spilled.

She grabbed a piece of charcoal from the table top and began to trace out a plan for the temporary wall along the south entrance while Indra watched her work.

“On the patrol, our riders heard rumors that Clarke kom Skaikru has taken refuge with the Boat People,” Indra said coolly, assessing Lexa’s reaction.

Lexa’s hand paused in midair, hovering just inches over the table.

Her heart stuttered for a moment while she processed the news. She tried to cover the reaction by scribbling a series of rough lines on the map, but her movements were uncharacteristically clumsy. Indra noticed; her face flooded with sadness, annoyance, and concern when she saw the effect the news had on her leader.

It wasn’t the first time Lexa heard Clarke’s name since she’d left Mount Weather, but nearly two months had passed since any verifiable news of her whereabouts had surfaced. Her people spoke of _Wanheda_ often, mostly in awe of her victory. Lexa had listened closely for updates, growing increasingly listless each day without new information.

“I thought you might be interested,” Indra said knowingly.

Lexa brushed off the comment, rediscovering some of her practiced indifference. “It changes nothing. We have work to do here.”

Battle never daunted Lexa quite the same way Clarke did. Battle formations were predictable. Attack and counterattack.

Clarke wasn’t predictable.

“Do you worry that Titus and Knox might try and garner an alliance with the Sky People?” Indra asked. “Skaikru has already attacked the southern clans. They might be persuaded to join the rebels’ cause.”

“No,” Lexa said. “We know where their armies are stationed, and we have another team hidden around their camp. If they leave, our riders will see it. We shouldn’t escalate matters prematurely.”

“You won’t call in reinforcements?”

“Our warriors  already outnumber them by four hundred. We will be fighting on familiar territory. After mobilizing the clans to Mount Weather, they will not take kindly to being summoned so soon, especially if they risk another attack by the Sky People.”

“Luna would send aid if you asked,” Indra reminded her. “She has always done so in the past. By boat, they could arrive in three days time if we sent messengers with our fastest horses.”

Lexa knew that she would arrive faithfully if ordered, just as she’d done as Lexa steadfastly forged the alliance victory by victory—and just as she’d done for the Commander before Lexa. Luna had even been part of the prestigious Conclave that oversaw her ascension as Commander, perhaps ironically along with Titus.

Three days was within their estimated window for battle. But as tempting as the offer was, Lexa was hesitant to take advantage of it for reasons she couldn’t entirely articulate.

“Respectfully, Heda,” Indra said, her tone hovering somewhere between caution and impatience, “I hope you are not allowing pride to cloud your good judgment.”

Lexa glowered at her. “When we defeat Rifgedakru and Maungedakru on our own, we will have sent a loud message to the rest of the clans.”

“And that is?”

Lexa straightened her stance, flexing her shoulders and her back. She exuded every bit of the power she’d been entrusted to by her people. Her eyes shone with familiar, wild intensity that made Indra recall vividly why her spirit had been picked from thousands of others.

“That our peace is earned, and no matter the sacrifices we must make along the way, I will _not_ let our people fall into ruin again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa spent most of the next few days working with Polis’s builders to erect a temporary wall along the wide western entrance. The gap stood two hundred feet wide and led directly into the square, the thriving heart of the city. Any disaster they wrought upon Polis would easily be ten times worse if they struck from the city’s square. Polis was too heavily fortified and guarded to lay siege from outside the walls. Titus and Knox had to invade, and Lexa intended to force them through the northern and southern entrances.

The passageways were narrower, snaking through a maze of brick buildings. They were wide enough for two merchant carts to pass in either direction and no more. Lexa assigned a team of carpenters to apply a layer of pitch on the paved roads. When the time came, they would light the very streets on fire to trap their enemies. But first, she had to finish the damned wall.

Unfortunately there simply hadn’t been enough spare stone. The builders raided the few cliffs around with their pick axes and chisels, but it had still only been enough to cover half the distance. The builders filled in the rest with the thickest wood logs they could find. Masons mixed mortar, using up their entire reserves for the project, and the entire city helped with the heavy lifting. They worked tirelessly, both day and night. Lexa organized the workers and only slipped away for a few hours every day to sleep.

The wall didn’t have to last forever (it was probably better that it didn’t). If the enemy had to stop and pick it apart, then it would have done its job. And if it still stood after the battle, Lexa would tear it down. The mere fact that it had been completed at all was a huge success.

The weather had been kind to them, but even so, the watered down mortar had barely set in time. Lexa had only been asleep a couple of hours before her sentries came barging into her quarters in a barely controlled panic. She’d heard the Rifgedakru and Maungedakru had left their camp two days ago, so they were expecting their arrival soon. However, the city of Polis hadn’t seen battle a battle fought in its territory for over five decades. The locals were bound to be overly excitable.

“Emo ste hir!” one of them shouted.

Lexa shook off the furs covering her body. She’d stationed the lookouts ten miles outside the city’s perimeter, so she had about an hour before they arrived. Just as she’d assumed, they’d come in the dead of night, hoping for cover of darkness. With the wall to block their entrance, that plan would likely backfire on them.

Indra arrived at Lexa’s side without being asked, and the two leaders went to work arranging their respective armies at opposite sides of the city. They each  arranged their most skilled shooters along the rooftops to thin the coming onslaught. Some of them carried arrows that would later be tipped with fire, igniting the pitch coating the streets below. Their enemies would flee to safety inside the buildings lining each street, where they would easily be captured by teams of waiting Polis and Trikru soldiers.

It was a solid plan. Very little risk to her own forces, thanks to Polis’s own vast architecture, and maximum damages without needing to obliterate their enemies. Once Lexa captured Titus and Knox, victory would come swiftly. They would flush the streets with the water from the shores and quash the insurgents before any talk of rebellion spread.

Lexa pulled on her pauldron and fastened it at her shoulder and around her waist. She took up her position next to Indra in the city square, both with battle armor and warpaint on, armed to the teeth. Each would keep watch over their side and had additional units available on the ground on the off chance that their plan failed. Horses were saddled and armored along the periphery, waiting to be put to work.

Despite their preparation, silence engulfed the entire city. Those that weren’t involved in the fight—either too old, too young, or too sick—were assigned to assist the healers. Polis had several, and even Nyko had made the trip.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Indra said. Her gaze drifted back and forth between the two ends of the city, assessing their formations. Despite the hour, their visibility remained high due to the full moon shining overhead.

Lexa nodded. “Polis hasn’t seen battle in either of our lifetimes. Nothing about this is right.”

Indra shakes her head. “That isn’t what I speak of.”

“Then what is it?”

“Even when you were building the alliance, we carried out negotiations with the hostile clans. Maungedakru and Rifgedakru know they could have requested an audience with you, even if war was inevitable. When fully defended, Polis is nearly impossible to siege. I would imagine any reasonable clan leader would avoid it if possible. Knox might be a pompous fool, but Titus is not.”

“He is still pompous,” Lexa corrected her, “but you’re right. He is no fool.”

“Then why does he march an army toward us not even three months since we abandoned the mountain?”

“You can ask him that once we capture him,” Lexa said.

Indra gave Lexa a piercing stare. “His motives don’t concern you?”

“At the moment, no. What concerns me is the wellbeing of my people. Right now, his reasons don’t matter because our objectives will remain the same: protect our own and capture the enemy. If we must kill to save our city and this alliance, then so be it.”

Lexa’s words of encouragement did little to quell Indra’s concerns, but neither said anything more on the matter. They waited together, tension hanging in the air like a fog, breathing more inside their lungs with every passing minute.

There were no battle cries when Maungedakru arrived at the northern entrance. As expected, they preferred a stealth approach. The only signs that the battle had begun were the stunned shouts of pain when their front lines were hit by the archers from the rooftops.

Upon seeing their comrades fall, they hurried through the maze in the streets below. All the carts and merchant stalls had been cleared from the area, giving their enemies nothing to hide behind. The townspeople had done their duties well. Those that tried to flee through the streets were struck by arrows, and those that tried to take cover inside the buildings were immediately apprehended by a swarm of warriors. Lexa’s side pressed their advantage early, and by the time Titus’s warriors gained passage through the southern entrance.

The result was much the same. The sergeants Lexa placed in charge of the rooftops set the streets ablaze, and the entire city filled with an orange glow as the pitched burned. The fire would only last a half hour or so, but that was more than enough. Rifgedakru pulled back from the southern gates.

The impromptu wall had clearly come as a surprise to them. What was probably initially their first option to gain entrance was now their last resort. Those with axes desperately hacked away but made slow progress with the flurry of arrows flying toward them. Titus and Knox had their warriors return fire over the wall, but these shots were blind and ineffective.

With the streets cleared around the buildings, one of Lexa’s sergeants ran toward her, eager for additional orders.

“Send one of your teams to the wall to locate Titus and Knox,” Lexa instructed him. “We need to know where they stand in the formation.”

The tall, hulking warrior nodded curtly then took off at a sprint to complete his task.

Indra, never one for idleness during a battle no matter how one-sided the fight, paced up and down the burning edges of the streets. The teams she and Lexa had waiting in the square were getting very little action, and many of them grew restless as well. There had no doubt been some casualties on Lexa’s side, but Rifgedakru and Maungedakru had suffered far more. Everything was happening exactly according to plan.

In hindsight, Lexa should have foreseen their good fortunes running out.

The archers stationed along the wall started to retreat from their posts. Their shouts were unintelligible among the clashing of the two armies at the wall, but once others saw them running away, many decided to join them. Lexa headed forward to chastise them and make them return to their stations.

She froze when the unmistakable sound of gunfire cut through the cool night air. Her blood ran cold. The Sky People were the only ones left with guns, and based on their limited history with them, guns were probably the least of their worries. Tristan and three hundred of his troops had been burned to death in a single fire, and before that, the Sky People had easily collapsed a bridge.

Lexa’s warriors who held their positions on the wall fell at at alarming rate. Seeing their bodies hit the ground brought Lexa back to her senses. She rounded up the teams she’d held back. They were Polis’s and Trikru’s best hand to hand combatants. Indra joined her, and they began hurriedly issuing orders.

Then a deafening explosion nearly knocked them all of their feet. The sky became alight with flames, outshining the smaller fires lining Polis’s streets.  As the flames dissipated, a shower of rocks, soot, and body parts began to fall around them. The wall they’d painstakingly built over the past three days, the last barrier between Polis and a horde of armed enemies, was demolished.

These were not the kinds of weapons Lexa’s people used. She shielded her eyes from the debris still floating to the ground, and through the billowing smoke, Azgedakru came storming into the city square. A third of them were carrying guns—the sight of them made Lexa nauseous—but their blue war paint and faded clothing with white fur were unmistakable.

Lexa had always sacrificed dearly to avoid facing them in battle. Nia’s clan could be beat but not without heavy casualties. Now they had shown up on her territory unannounced and unnoticed by her scouts. Emerson stood at the center of the formation, next to Roan, the man widely known to be Nia’s second in command. The queen herself was nowhere to be seen.

Their breach of the wall inspired the rest of their side. The Maungedakru and Rifgedakru warriors who’d been struggling on the ground since the battle’s onset found renewed strength. Horses stormed inside, trampling those unfortunate enough to stand in their way. The tide had just turned with horrifying speed. Lexa searched the chaos for Indra, finding her just as stunned as the others.

Lexa pulled her aside. “Send your fighters to the right flank,” she told her.

Lexa would take her group to the left. The enemy’s gunners were clustered at the center, so putting bodies between themselves and the Ice Nation would add a layer of protection while they fought inward.

Indra nodded, rounded up her warriors, and took off.

Lexa’s team fought, slashed, and cut their way through the dense crowd. The mass of fighters pushing forward made it difficult to tell friend from foe. Lexa slashed at anyone who lifted their weapon against her, as did her warriors. Eventually that became the only way to tell the sides apart. Everyone’s faces, clothing, and hands were covered with blood. The gunfire became less frequent as they pressed inward, partially because the gunners were having to more carefully aim their shots now that both sides were in close conflict, and partially because some were depleted of ammunition. The tides started to swing back to Lexa’s side.

She parried away a wild swing with an axe before thrusting her sword forward for the coup de grâce. Her blade slid easily between a pair of ribs, and just as her victim fell to his knees at her feet, another stood behind her, ready to attack.

It was Roan. The moment he realized who his opponent was, his face melted into a kind of wild fury, and he surged forward, seeking to land a fatal blow with a heavy spiked club. Lexa tried to pull her blade free, but it stuck. She was enclosed in a tight space and couldn’t escape on her feet. Roan swung down with all of his might.

Lexa ducked to her right at the last possible moment. The blow grazed the armor on her shoulder, but it was enough to knock her off balance. Her hand slipped from her sword handle, and she fell to her knee. Roan reared his club back for another swing. In one last moment of desperation, Lexa kicked forward with her free leg, right into his knee. There was a sickening crack, and Roan crumpled to the ground in a heap while Lexa scurried free. She located her sword and with two solid tugs, yanked it free of her previous victim’s body.

She fell back in formation momentarily to survey their progress. Her team had covered considerable ground, and Indra’s team was making progress as well. If they converged their teams in the middle, they would be able to push their enemies back. Indra quickly dispatched two enemies with one elaborate slashing motion, and when she drew her weapon back again, Lexa waved overhead to catch her attention. Lexa made a gesture with her hand to meet toward the center. With a few neat maneuvers, the two leaders were shoulder to shoulder again, blocking, attacking, and pushing forward in unison.

“Any word on Titus or Knox?” Lexa asked her in between bouts.

“The last I heard, Titus was outside the wall.” Indra locked swords with a Maungedakru warrior, and instead of trying to draw her weapon back, she reared her leg and gave him a powerful kick square in the chest. He stumbled backward, knocking over three others before hitting the ground. “Knox was fighting in the main formation, but I didn’t see what happened to him.”

Lexa nodded once. “Their fire has slowed. If we make our push now, we’ll be able to drive them out. Are your teams ready?”

“Sha, Heda.”

The momentum swung heavily their way once Lexa and Indra ordered the ambush. Every one of her enemies also felt it. Some of them panicked and started giving up ground, allowing Lexa to push them further, but most of them dug in their heels and only fought more viciously. The gunners, who had been fighting more conservatively and avoiding the front lines, were now meeting sword fighters. The enemy was backing into the rubble from the wall, and Lexa’s side had nearly pushed them out of the square.

The last enemy Lexa would remember facing was one she knew well. After dodging the rifle barrel and cutting down its carrier, Emerson stood before her. A brief flash of recognition flooded his features, followed by a look Lexa knew well—pure bloodlust.

She jumped to the side, as she’d done to avoid the last shooter. But Emerson, expecting that, swung the barrel of his rifle in sync with Lexa’s movements, and when the shot rang out, a searing pain ripped through her abdomen. Emerson indulged himself a smug grin before turning his gun on the next combatant. Lexa staggered backward and fell to her knees.

Indra was at Lexa’s side in seconds. For the first time since Lexa had known her, the woman appeared truly terrified. Eyes wide as she knelt by Lexa, they remained shielded from the battle by the wave of warriors swarming around them.

“You’ve been hit,” Indra said, her voice shaking.

Lexa nodded. She didn’t dare say anything for fear of worsening the pain. She brushed her fingers against the spot where the bullet pierced her armor, and when she pulled them away, she was unsurprised to see them coated with blood. There was blood trickling down the front of her shirt, and an expanding stain around her injury. Lexa was suddenly hit with the frightening possibility of her own death.

Lexa always believed that one day she would die in battle, but she’d always imagined that it would be a heroic ending.

Not like this. Never like this.

There was no beauty in this, no glory, no dignity. Lexa bled as easily as every other person on this early, and no matter of honorable crusading could salvage her broken body. She would die in the middle of a fallen city—alone.

Or perhaps not alone. Indra hadn’t left her side despite the melee around them.

“We need to get you to Nyko,” Indra urged. She stood and yanked at Lexa’s arm to pull her upright, but Lexa couldn’t support her own weight. Indra caught her before she hit the ground.

“I won’t make it,” Lexa said.

“Yes, you will.”

Lexa should’ve known better than to argue with Indra. With one smooth movement, Indra scooped Lexa over her shoulder, holding her in place by the back of her thighs. She winced as Indra’s armor pressed into her abdomen, which only worsened with each step Indra took away from the fight in the square.

Indra moved as quickly as she could, but Lexa’s eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Even the pain, which had been unbearable at first, had dulled to a mere throb by the time Indra reached Nyko’s hut.

When Nyko saw the limp figure in Indra’s arms, he swiped his table clean to make room for Lexa. The townspeople assisting him in his hut merely gawked at the scene.

“Gon yo we!” Nyko bellowed at them.

They scattered immediately, and Nyko helped lower Lexa to the table. Indra hastily cut Lexa’s armor and shirt free to access the wound. Without pressure, blood immediately started pooling around the bullet wound. There had been no exit wound through her back.

“Can you fix it?” Indra pressed him.

Nyko looked uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“Well then _try_!” Indra grabbed the lapels of his coat, frantically shaking him until he nodded. He scurried to retrieve his supplies from the shelves behind him.

Lexa was fading, but her hand wandered to find Indra’s before she left the hut. Indra struggled desperately to maintain her composure. With Lexa incapacitated, she assumed control of their remaining forces until the battle ended. Indra had seen enough war in her lifetime to not be intimidated by any fight, no matter how daunting. But this was different.

Indra would never admit it, but seeing her Commander so gravely injured was a sobering experience. She fought to keep her expression strong and unaffected as she squeezed Lexa’s hand in return.

“You must protect them,” Lexa’s voice was frail, sounding nothing like the strong woman Indra has come to know and respect. “You have to fight.”

Indra nodded. “I will—as long as you promise to fight, too.”

“I always do,” Lexa breathed out.

Indra stepped away to return to the battle. Lexa lasted just long enough to see her out before her eyes closed, and the world faded to black.

 


	5. A Reunion to Die For

The surveillance team Bellamy organized was limited by the number of radios Mount Weather had to spare. Their group hadn’t anticipated the need when they first arrived back to the mountain. They dragged every corpse out through the main entrance and burned them—radios, access cards, and protective vests. All save for one, at Jasper’s request.

A lone mound of earth stood at the easternmost face of the mountain, where Maya was buried. She never got the opportunity to witness a sunrise on the ground, and now in her final resting place, she could see one every day.

Bellamy met the others from the day team just inside the main door. Harper, Jasper, Miller, and Monroe were the first to arrive, and Bellamy greeted them fondly.

They’d endured hell together. Now that they were rebuilding the mountain, making it even stronger than before, they no longer lived in a constant state of fear. They could finally be themselves. Bellamy would fight like hell to defend that livelihood—not just for himself, but for his friends too.

 _We all deserve better_ , Bellamy thought, looking back on his decision. _We didn_ _’t leave a prison on the Ark just to become prisoners on the ground._

Some adults also joined their mission; a portion were parents of the kids who returned under Bellamy’s leadership, but the vast majority were those looking to finally break free from the Ark. Kane was the only one who gave Bellamy any pushback when he proposed starting a permanent settlement at Mount Weather. Yet after the rest of the Arkers voiced their overwhelming support for the move, Kane had little choice but to comply.

Abby Griffin had resigned her leadership post a month after Clarke’s disappearance and wanted no part in the debate. By now, everyone else had also given up on Clarke’s return.

Bellamy stopped looking for her at every turn when he was out on his tours, and everyone at the mountain gradually stopped talking about her. She’d left them. After two months with no signs of her whereabouts, they had to assume she wasn’t coming back—if she wasn’t already dead.

Bellamy clenched his fists together tightly. It was better for him to avoid thinking about Clarke altogether; doing so only made him bitter and angry.

All fifteen team members showed up punctually, sporting characteristic smiles. Bellamy divided up the land around the base of the mountain into wedged sections. Each person was responsible for holding the perimeter in their piece. Two miles out, just far enough for minimum missile range. The assignments never changed, but they used the time to meet up and enjoy their friends’ company before they were separated for the rest of the day.

Despite their regular joviality, none of Bellamy’s friends forgot their objective. They had to become stronger; they had to fight more viciously than any army they would come up against. Bellamy reminded them of that mission, and they set off.

Slowly the group splintered as each person broke away to tend to their designated section. Monroe and Bellamy were the last pair walking through the field together. She and Bellamy bumped fists before separating into the forest.

Bellamy trudged over his familiar route in the woods, spotting nothing amiss from his previous tours. His heavy boots had worn a path in the brush from the past forty times he’d passed through the area, so there was no chance of getting lost. After almost two months of seeing nothing more than a sparrow in the trees, he didn’t even keep his weapon drawn anymore.

A bit of static sounded from the radio fasted on Bellamy’s belt, followed by the garbled sound of Monty’s voice. “Uhh… Bellamy?”

He lazily lifted the radio to his mouth, not even breaking his stride. “What is it Monty?”

Monty hesitated.

“Listen, if this is about the water leaks on level one again, I said that—”

“Don’t freak out,” Monty blurted, cutting Bellamy off. “I’ve got something on radar. It’s headed toward the mountain, looks like it’s coming toward your section.”

Bellamy paused, but only for a moment. He looked around in every direction but saw nothing. He’d learned in the past couple of months that radar wasn’t the infallible technology he originally believed. It worked great on the Ark, when their transmitters were in space and the only obstacles they had to worry about were errant satellites from before the apocalypse. On the ground, there was interference, and the equipment was dated and worn by nearly a century of heavy use.

 Many of the radar signals were blocked by the trees. The pictures on the monitor also showed a three dimensional space using only two dimensions, so they picked up all sorts of extra signals that weren’t anything to worry over. Monty radioed Harper in a panic last week about a huge “something” headed her direction, but it had just been a flock of geese migrating south for the winter. Short of direct visualization, there was no way of telling for sure.

“I don’t see anything,” Bellamy radioed him back and kept walking. “It’s gotta be another flock of birds again.”

“Well then that is one _huge_ flock of birds,” Monty said disbelievingly. “It’s at least three times bigger than last week, and the signal is stronger. Less fuzzy. It looks bad, Bellamy.”

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing here. If there was, I would have seen it. Or at least heard it.”

He kept walking.

Not even thirty seconds after the words left his mouth, a branch snapped in the distance to Bellamy’s left. He barely heard it from so far away, but its suddenness startled him. He instinctively jumped behind the nearest tree wide enough to hide his body. Bellamy muted the radio to near silence in case he was overheard, the static barely audible from the speaker.

Bellamy pulled his gun from the holster at his waist and peeked around the edge of the tree. Bodies were visible between the gaps of the trees, spanning as far as he could see to his left or right. He spotted their light clothing easily in the forest’s relative shade. These weren’t Trikru grounders. Monty was right; it looked bad. Bellamy could only estimate how many there were—at least two hundred, if not more.

“All right Monty, looks like we’ve got grounders,” Bellamy whispered into the receiver. They were closing the distance quickly. Even if Monty launched the missile in time, Bellamy would still have to retreat before they reached him. “These are my coordinates.”

Bellamy read off the numbers from the device in his jacket pocket, then quickly replaced it while Monty ran the numbers through the computer. In about fifteen seconds, Monty radioed a response.

“You’re right at the edge of missile range, Bellamy,” Monty told him. “The wind’s coming at your back, too. If we fired now, there’s a good chance we’d overshoot. If you could push them back a quarter of a mile I’d have a clean shot.”

“I can’t get them back a quarter mile, Monty! All I’ve got is a gun. You’ve seen the radar—there are hundreds of them!”

If Monty shot beyond the grounders, they would storm the mountain at once. Bellamy would get caught in the ambush, and there was no way any more missiles stood a chance in hell of reaching the grounders once they ran firmly inside minimum range. It would also complicate the others getting back to the mountain. Bellamy’s fifteen scouts were intended to _prevent_ these kinds of attacks, not to fight them alone. And he would _not_ lose those fifteen.

With everyone inside, Monty could have the mountain safely locked down for months. Everyone else had a chance to get inside if they hurried. Bellamy would have a hard time not getting caught if he took off now. Once he cleared the forest and reached the open field around the mountain’s base, there would be nothing separating him from a hoard of angry grounders but open space. Bellamy would have to fend for himself in the forest until his friends took care of the grounders, or the grounders left—whichever came first.

“I’m pulling everyone back,” Monty said. He’d obviously reasoned through the predicament and arrived at the same conclusion.

“I’ll keep my radio on me. If I make it back to the tunnels, I’ll let you know so someone can let me inside,” Bellamy said.

“No, you need to stay where you are.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bellamy received no answer while Monty presumably radioed the others to retreat back to the mountain. He sunk to the ground as low as he could and peeked around the tree once more.

Definitely grounders. Definitely not from around here. The white furs encircling their shoulders were more appropriate for the chilled air than their simple jackets from the Ark. He pulled back before they had a chance to see him.

“Here’s the plan,” Monty said. “When the others get back, I’m going to send out the acid fog.”

Bellamy blinked several times in confusion. “You got it working?”

“It’s been working for two weeks, dumbass. We just never needed to use it.”

Bellamy was shocked. That changed everything. Bellamy realized that his chances at going rogue against a small army of grounders was slim to none. But if he could just make it to shelter, Monty could deploy the fog as soon as the others got back. Nobody needed to die.

Monty said: “There’s a bunker about two hundred yards from you. I’ll tell you when the others get here, and you make a run for it. Let me know when you’re inside, and I’ll deploy the fog. You remember where it is?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy answered.

His last memory of the place involved Finn shooting a captive grounder in the head from point blank range. The grounders had since removed Delano’s body, Bellamy heard, but he hadn’t been back since. It wouldn’t have survived a missile strike, but it would withstand acid fog.

Bellamy waited in silence as the grounders continued their approach. They weren’t being carelessly loud, but the cadence of hundreds of feet striking at once was bound to be overheard. The grounders didn’t make any attempts to silence themselves or change their pace, which meant they hadn’t seen Bellamy yet. As they grew closer—dangerously close—he started to grow restless.

“Okay, now!” Monty called back.

Bellamy clutched his gun in one hand and his radio in the other. He sprang to his feet and took off at a dead sprint toward his destination, not looking back for fear that it would only slow him down. Shouts sounded in the grounders’ foreign tongue, followed by the unmistakable sound of footfall behind him.

He was being chased.

He wove through the trees, making hard lateral cuts as he slipped between the gaps to try and throw off his pursuants. Bellamy outpaced most of them using his sheer athleticism. The number of footsteps following him dropped off significantly by the time he was halfway to the bunker. He leapt from a tall rocky ledge and landed in stride. The foreign grounders weren’t expecting the drop, and many twisted their ankles on the uneven landing.

All of them fell behind except for one annoyingly persistent grounder.

The grounder on his trail was closing on him fast. The hatch to the bunker was within sight, and a surge of adrenaline pushed his legs even faster. There was only one left to beat, then Bellamy would get his chance to slide into the bunker. Once safely inside, he could barricade himself in the room until the wave of acid fog passed.

Bellamy thought to himself: _Just sixty yards out_ _… then forty…_

At ten yards away, the grounder was still hard on his heels. Bellamy would have to fight him.

He waited until the last possible moment, planting his foot hard into the soil and whirling around, tracking his gun toward the source of the noise. What he didn’t expect was a fist to collide against the side of his face the moment he turned. It blinded Bellamy’s vision with stars, and he stumbled backward and collapsed onto his back, the radio slipping from his grasp.

The grounder pinned him down at the shoulder; the weight was considerably lighter than Bellamy expected. He regained his senses and aimed his weapon again. He briefly regained his senses only to be rewarded by a knife blade pressed against his throat and a sinking clarity as he blinked up at his assailant.

A vaguely familiar face stared back at him. She was at once terrifying and beautiful, but she was hostile, the dark blue war paint obscuring her most striking features. After a moment, Bellamy was certain where he’d seen her before. He kept his gun pointed between her eyes, and she kept her knife against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood from where it touched his skin.

“Echo?” Bellamy said cautiously.

Surprise initially flickered across her face. In Echo’s defense, Bellamy didn’t look quite the same as he did since they defeated the Mountain Men. His hair grew shaggier, and he had a fair amount of stubble on his face that hadn’t been present two months ago. Her face softened once she recognized him.

“Bellamy?”

He nodded.

She lifted the knife blade away from his neck, and Bellamy removed his finger from the trigger. They stared at each other curiously for a moment. Neither of them knew what to say to the other. In the end, they both settled for an uncertain smile.

Their reunion was interrupted when the rest of the grounder entourage arrived. None of them recognized Bellamy, and upon seeing his gun, every single one of them drew their weapons to attack. He scooted backward away from them while Echo scrambled to her feet.

“Chil yo daun!” she shouted, raising her hand high in the air.

Bellamy didn’t know what sort of authority Echo had in grounder circles, but it must have been a considerable amount. Though they didn’t seem pleased by the order, on her command, every last one of them lowered their weapons. They stilled eyed Bellamy warily. If he gave them a reason to retaliate, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

The crowd parted from the back, and another woman stepped forward. Echo immediately bowed her head in deference. If Echo was someone of great importance, then this woman would have been one of the grounders’ most senior officials. She definitely looked the part; she stood just as tall as Bellamy and wore the heaviest armor of them all.

“What do we have here?” she asked in a menacingly sweet tone.

Echo answered for both of them. “Dison laik Bellamy kom Skaikru.”

The woman eyed Bellamy strangely—appraisingly, almost as if she were sizing up some prized weapon. It made him instantly uncomfortable, and he straightened his stance in response to make himself more prominent.

“Bellamy of the Sky People,” she mused out loud. “I was told that the Sky People camp was west of the mountain.”

“It is. This is _our_ outpost now, and I’m in charge. In case you hadn’t heard, we defeated the mountain by ourselves.”

Bellamy folded his arms across his chest, putting scant effort into hiding the angry gloat in his voice. The memory of the grounders—cowards, fleeing battle at the first opportunity—still burned like acid in Bellamy’s veins.

“Indeed. I know all about the fall of the Mountain Men,” the older woman said. “I appreciate the great favor you’ve done for my people, Echo included. Which incidentally, is why I’m here.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrow at her. “And you are?”

“Queen Nia of Azgedakru. Our people hail from the North.”

“What do you want?”

“I understand that there is conflict between our people after our Commander betrayed yours at the battle.”

“You’re perceptive,” Bellamy said. “But we don’t need your help. We don’t work with grounders anymore. Not after what happened last time.”

“Is that why you feel the need to barricade yourselves inside an underground fortress?” Nia challenged him. “I hear one of your engineers rebuilt the turbines supplying power to the mountain. In just a short time, you have all the defenses running as they were before the Maunon fell. That shows great enterprise.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at Nia. He was quite certain he’d never seen her before—not at the mountain, not at Tondc, not in any of the inter-clan delegations passing in and out of Trigedakru territory. Rebuilding the turbines for the dam had been Wick’s project starting the day they arrived back to the mountain, yet they weren’t a prominent enough feature of the architecture to be noticed by a casual passerby. Not to mention, Bellamy was quite certain nobody except his team has passed near the mountain in nearly two months.

How had Nia come by her information?

Nia continued: “There are a number of us—my clan included—that consider the Commander’s retreat a most shameful reflection on our people. My allies are interested in developing a lasting peace between our people and Skaikru. There needn’t be any fight between us.”

“The last time we made a deal with your side, your Commander betrayed us.”

“Then let us work together to rid ourselves of that particular affliction,” she said, showing a kind of zeal at just the suggestion. “You will find no love for the Commander amongst my people. There are two other clans—very powerful—that also feel similarly. And not even a week ago, another joined our cause. Together we could create a lasting alliance, one not formed on the basis of fear. Our people would rule it fairly, as equals. We wouldn’t be ruled by the whims of a coward.”

Nia extended her hand toward Bellamy, who hesitated to take it immediately. The gesture was particular to Skaikru, and Nia doubtlessly knew that.

The prospect of taking out the grounders’ Commander, while enticing, introduced uncertainty. Camp Jaha was stronger than it had ever been. With Mount Weather to serve as a buffer between their main camp and the grounders, there weren’t many enemies they couldn’t defeat—at least until their missile supply ran dry and they ran out of ammunition. That scenario wasn’t in the foreseeable future, but in five years? Ten? Bellamy couldn’t predict that far in the future. He’d only been on the ground for a matter of months. In that short time, society had already been turned on its head. An entire race of people demolished, a fracture in the grounder alliance, an emerging superpower in the Arkers…

The Mountain Men had isolated themselves from the grounders, and the grounders started a movement that eventually guaranteed their demise. Bellamy glanced uncertainly at Echo, who gave an encouraging nod. He steeled his nerves. If he outright rejected their offer now, would it haunt him later? His sister? His people? He met Nia’s gaze head-on.

“We’ll start negotiations tomorrow at first light,” Bellamy said. “I’ll have our leaders at camp join the discussion. If we can agree on acceptable terms, then we have a deal. And if we can’t…”

“Then we will leave your territory without protest,” Nia finished for him.

There was a moment of indecision, and Bellamy agonized over all the potential complications that could arise from the situation. It could all be a plan to draw as many Sky People as they could from their respective stations and launch an attack.

Then there was Echo. Both she and Bellamy had numerous opportunities to turn on each other during their captivity at Mount Weather, but neither of them did so.

These were Echo’s people. They’d earned a degree of trust just by having her as one of their esteemed officers.

Bellamy reach out to grasp the hand that Nia offered him, giving it a firm shake. The queen’s eyes lit up with interest, and Echo allowed herself a satisfied smile. It was too early to tell, but it felt like this was an alliance that could ensure his people’s survival. Bellamy was finding he’d do just about anything to keep them safe. And if that included taking sides with rebel grounders to take out their leadership establishment—the same establishment that was an ever present threat to Camp Jaha—then so be it.

For everyone’s sake, he simply hoped the entire plan didn’t blow up in his face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Octavia took a thin section of Clarke’s hair, divided it into three, and began another braid. “If we are going to stay here much longer,” Octavia had said, yanking and twisting the strands of blond hair into place, “you need to put a little more effort into at least _looking_ like you belong here.”

Clarke already had the wardrobe that she’d collected as gifts during her long walkabout in the north. Octavia had since made it her personal mission to see to it that her transformation was complete. Her first order of business had been the hair—she assured Clarke it wouldn’t be identical to her own style—then the second would be warpaint.

In the days following the full council meeting, there hadn’t been much to discuss. Rebels were expected to attack in the coming days, and Luna wouldn’t risk sending her scouts into an active battle zone with so little to gain from it. Battle was an inevitability; its outcome was the only area of interest. The villagers also knew Rifgedakru and Maungedakru’s intent to rebel against the alliance. They insistently requested updates from Luna, from Clarke, from Luna’s generals, and even Octavia. Clarke wasn’t deliberately withholding information from them. She simply didn’t know.

Ten days passed without further updates, and Clarke spent most of those acquainting herself with the ocean. She brought the dyes, brushes, and stretched rolls of felted canvas to the shore and tried for hours each day to perfectly capture the way the rising sun glittered off the water’s surface. Sometimes, it seemed bright yellow, other times orange or purple. Clarke was creative with her limited palette and eventually finished a painting that was quickly fought over by the villagers (she ended up giving it to the widow who’d given her the paints in the first place).

Luna eventually sent out a small group of scouts to the capital. They rode to the north on their fastest horses, but it was still another three days before they completed their round trip. When they returned, Luna debriefed them alone, not letting Clarke or any of her generals join her.

Clarke waited on the deck for the Luna to emerge from her last session. The other four scouts that had left over the past two hours were given strict instructions to remain silent. They obeyed Luna’s orders and divulged nothing of their tour, not even to Clarke. The last scout exited at around noon, and predictably, Luna followed minutes later. She seemed unsurprised to find Clarke waiting for her. Luna descended the ramp wordlessly and headed away from the village’s center. When her people approached her for news, she offered them simple platitudes but nothing more. Clarke continued trailing her, passing the markets and arriving to the beach. They strolled along the shore silently until they reached the most remote section of the shore.

Luna stopped abruptly, stared out at the ocean, then sat in the sand, resting her arms across her knees. She didn’t tell Clarke to leave, so Clarke moved to join her. She hoped the privacy would allow Luna to tell her what was going on; being left in the dark was tortuous.

“Was it bad?” Clarke asked after several more minutes of silence.

Luna gave her a single nod. “There were heavy casualties. Titus and Knox have both escaped, and Indra says that just last week, Worgedakru’s leader was deposed.”

“By who?”

“The Ice Nation,” Luna said. “They led their own army into Polis with their newest additions from Worgedakru—essentially four clans against two.”

“So we _should_ have helped,” Clarke said dejectedly. She dug the toes of her boots into the cool sand, staring intently at them. Something else bothered her too. _Indra_ —not Lexa—had been the one to give updates.

“I’m not sure how useful our presence would have been. We would have anchored along the coast of Worgedakru, and then we would have walked blindly into a massacre. I still would have sent warriors if the Commander requested them, but she did not. Nobody could have expected this, Clarke.”

Clarke looked up. Luna’s eyes were sincere but saw too much, and Clarke quickly looked away again before asking her next question. “And the Commander?”

“Our scouts saw no signs of her, nor did Indra mention why she was unavailable.”

An unwelcome tightness rippled through Clarke’s chest. She still wasn’t as unaffected by Lexa as she pretended to be, and the reasons for that confused her. There was anger, bitterness, and a chaotic sense of vengefulness. Yet when faced with the real possibility of Lexa’s demise—not just her usual contemplations—something in Clarke felt broken.

She wondered if that feeling would ever go away like she desperately wanted it to. She wanted not to care, to be free of someone who obviously thought so little of her that she could walk away like it was nothing. Instead, the knife permanently residing in Clarke’s chest twisted a little bit more.

Predictably, Luna saw her pained response. She might not have known the reasons for it, but she was no fool.

“Rest assured, she is not dead, Clarke,” Luna said.

“Did Indra tell you that?” Clarke asked skeptically.

“If the Commander had indeed fallen, the Conclave would have been summoned immediately. As you’ve noticed, we’ve received no visitors from the capital. I cannot speak to her exact state after the battle, but she _is_ alive.”

Clarke mulled over the news she’d been given. She was finding it difficult to remain hopeful when the world around her continued to fall apart. The grounders were now openly at war, and the list of enemies from within the clans seemed to grow larger by the day. Meanwhile, her people were settled at Mount Weather with a violent agenda of their own.

“So what happens now?” Clarke asked.

Luna dipped her head low. “For the first time, in many years, I honestly don’t know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the chill in Polis, Lexa awoke with a thin sheen of sweat covering her body. Remarkably, she was back in her room at the main tower; she recognized the texture of the furs pressing against her. She eased her eyes open and winced when she registered the first rays of sunlight she’d seen since the battle.

Lexa could only assume by the fact that she wasn’t in a prison cell that her side had won. How long had it been since the Ice Nation brought the wall down? Hours? A day? She tentatively swung her legs over the side of her mattress and was met with a searing pain in her abdomen.

“Lie back down, and don’t even think about moving,” Indra scolded her from across the room. She had taken up Lexa’s usual seat at the drafting table and appeared to be busy working on something. “Nyko would have me arrested for treason if I let you reinjure yourself while he’s out on his errand.”

There was a gaping hole in Lexa’s memory after she’d been injured, but Indra acted as if she’d simply awoken from a nap. Lexa complied with the order, not altogether pleased with the new structure of command. She could always ignore it, but then Indra would almost certainly physically enforce her order anyway. Lexa was in no shape to fight anyone at the moment, so she lied back down, and pain from her injury dulled to a steady throb.

She hesitantly lifted the bottom edge of her shirt, unsure of what she would see underneath. White strips of gauze covered her wound, and after she peeled them back gently, she spotted a straight incision held together by neat black stitches.

Lexa was relieved to see that she was no longer bleeding, at least.

Indra watched her carefully from across the room. She’d done more watching over the Commander than actual work over the past several days.

“You were bleeding from the inside,” Indra explained to Lexa as she examined her wound. “Nyko had to operate to remove the bullet. It was fortunate that the Sky People doctors left some of their supplies with Nyko after Tondc.” She clenched her jaw and stared into the table in front of her, feigning busyness once again. “Otherwise, he doubts you would have survived.”

A long silence engulfed the room. Lexa hadn’t expected to wake up at all, but she knew that if she died in the city square, Indra would have been affected, no matter how hard she pretended otherwise.

“How long was I out?” Lexa asked.

“Today is the seventh day.”

Lexa stared at her dumbfounded.

“When the bullet didn’t kill you, the fever nearly did,” Indra explained. “Nyko has gone to the harbor for more seaweed. Supplies have been running low, and there are many in dire need, including yourself.”

“I assume we claimed victory?” Lexa raised an eyebrow at her.

“After the causalities, I don’t know if either side could claim _victory_. Nonetheless, our enemies retreated several hours after they breached the wall.”

Lexa scooted up in the bed cautiously, careful not to pull at her stitches. “Were Titus or Knox captured?”

“Our team briefly held Knox before the western wall fell. He escaped in the aftermath.”

“And Roan?”

Indra shook her head, her eyes flashing briefly with anger.

“How did your scouts miss hundreds of Azgeda on their tours?” Lexa asked, trying valiantly to hide her irritation but having limited success. “That seems like a fairly egregious oversight on their parts. They may have very well cost hundreds of lives.”

“The scouts missed nothing on their tours, I can assure you,” Indra said. The muscles in her jaw twitched when she clenched her teeth together. There was a brief pause as Indra mustered her courage to tell Lexa the next bit of devastating news. “It appears as if the Ice Nation was hiding within Worgedakru territory in the days leading up to the attack.”

Lexa’s eyes widened. Once the shock registered, she was able to temper her outward reaction, though the news wasn’t any less disturbing.

Worgedakru weren’t necessarily _loyal_ allies in the coalition. They were strong, but in general, they were unpredictably reliable. Their clan was comprised of troubled castoffs or orphans from other clans, and their land was of the poorest quality. Training warriors was their primary trade. It was a testament to how well they did this that their leader had been able to sustain the clan for so long. Lexa knew and respected their leader, Eva.

Worgedakru also sat along Polis’s northeastern border. The Ice Nation had essentially been waiting on Lexa’s doorstep, ready to strike. The only problem with this story was Lexa’s knowledge of Eva. The woman was a fierce warrior and was notorious for her inhospitality of other clans.

Costia had even trained in Worgedakru for a time after leaving Trigedakru, so Lexa was acquainted with their clan leader. On several occasions, Lexa got the impression that Eva only tolerated her presence during visits to Worgedakru because of her title as Commander.

“Eva would not have let the Azgeda reside in her territory under any circumstances,” Lexa insisted.

“She didn’t _let_ them,” Indra said. “She was overthrown. What is left of her clan now fights on behalf of the Ice Nation, as per the old customs.”

The news was going from bad to worse.

Now _four_ formidable clans stood in firm opposition to Lexa’s coalition. Polis had survived the first strike, but only just. The capital was now surrounded by enemies to the north, east and west. Geographical isolation doubtlessly played a role in Nia’s plan, which was now becoming increasingly clear.

 Azgedakru hadn’t even sent its entire army in the fight. If they returned in the next two or three weeks before Lexa had a chance to gather reinforcements, Polis would surely be decimated.

Lexa spent the next hour ruminating over their losses before Nyko arrived. He changed her bandages and gave her a dose of the extract for the fever. He was relieved that she was awake; it had not been easy to give Lexa the medications while she was unconscious. He finished his work quickly, needing to tend to a number of injuries and ailments after the disaster nearly a week ago.

“I was going to have Indra show me the grounds,” Lexa told him as he finished packing his supplies. She wasn’t about to ask for permission, but Indra wouldn’t be placated easily.

Nyko hesitated a moment. “I don’t know if that is wise, Heda. Your injury was severe.”

“I was not asking.” Lexa sat upright in bed. She was prepared for the pain when it came this time, and she kept her expression even. “My people haven’t seen me in days; they need to see me alive and well.”

 _Or else they might think I_ _’m weak_ , Lexa finished in her mind. She wouldn’t have it. Not anymore.

Nyko eyed her skeptically. He’d seen the full extent of her injuries and knew she wasn’t ready to return to her duties yet. On some level, Lexa knew this too, but she was willing to persevere through the discomfort for the sake of her pride—and for the sake of her people’s.

“I obviously cannot stop you,” Nyko admitted, “but I ask that you at least be extra cautious until the wound properly heals. You risk reopening it if you overexert yourself before it has closed.”

“Duly noted,” Lexa said. She shot a glance toward Indra, who made a herculean effort not to look annoyed. “I will be careful; Indra will keep watch.”

Indra muttered unintelligibly underneath her breath, letting the others know that was the very last thing she was interested in doing.

Indra wasn’t nearly as antagonistic after Nyko left. She eyed Lexa’s movements like a hawk, noting the way she favored her injury. To Lexa’s relief, she said nothing about it.

Lexa became lightheaded when she stood fully upright for the first time in days. She briefly wavered, holding her hand out to steady herself against the wall. Indra rushed forward, but Lexa waved her off.

“I’m fine, just stood up too fast.” Lexa lied.

After that, Lexa took extra care to avoid sudden movements and walked extra slowly to maintain her balance. Indra didn’t contradict her explanation. She saw Lexa down the aged stairwell, onto the lift, and out of the building into the Polis city square.

Lexa was immediately struck by the lethargy in the atmosphere. On any given day, there were always merchant carts and stalls lining the edge of square and people visiting them to trade. One grouse for a hunting knife, a bear pelt for a saddle… yet there were no carts in the square today, and the few people that did brave the outdoors to pass through looked as if they’d rather be anyplace else. Nobody stopped to socialize. A few saw Lexa as she gingerly made her way across, but none went out of their way to greet her.

Lexa spotted one of their more famous artists from across the square before noticing he’d lost his right arm. He would never paint again. Others passed through who were bloodied, bandaged, or disfigured. Even those who survived did not escape unscathed.

With their reduction in pace, it was some time before Lexa and Indra arrived to the ruins of the west entrance. The streets to the north and south were charred from the fires that burned days ago, but what clawed at Lexa’s insides was the sight of dried blood pooled and smeared throughout the rubble. The bodies had been removed, but no rain had come to cleanse the pavement. Smoke wafted from beyond entrance where the bodies had been piled in the days after the battle.

“How many?” Lexa asked Indra. Her question might have seemed abrupt, as most of their tour had been in silence, but there was no doubt as to the Commander’s meaning.

“We counted just under seven hundred between the two sides,” Indra said. “The losses were close to equal for both.”

Lexa’s people were naturally disheartened after such devastation. With such casualties, most of them had been affected in some way or another. They’d cleared away the bodies to avoid disease and to rid themselves of the constant reminder. After that, the people of Polis retreated back to their families, back into their houses. Each of them mourned while arrows, shell casings, and abandoned weapons still littered the streets.

Lexa couldn’t blame them. The sight of her city in such a state saddened her even more. They would need to finish the clean up soon. If they didn’t, despondence would claim Kapgedakru more completely than any battle. It had already started.

“There is much work to be done,” Indra said.

Unlike Lexa, she didn’t bother examining the ruins further; she’d seen immediate aftermath and had spent the entire week passing through the square on a regular basis.

Lexa nodded sagely. “The alliance has broken.”

“Yes.”

Lexa’s thoughts immediately went to strategizing, planning the next move. Titus’s clan separated Polis from their strongest allies in the north, Hongedakru. Roan’s claim to Worgedakru separated them from Ailonkru along the coast. There seemed to be a complication waiting at every turn.

Indra had a different set of concerns on her mind.

“Before we lift another weapon, you must first address the state of the Conclave,” she said to Lexa.

Lexa snapped from her reverie. “What do you mean?”

“You nearly died, Heda,” Indra said. “And I mean no disrespect when I say that you perhaps _should_ have died from such an injury. Do you have any idea the chaos that would have ensued now that the Conclave is down two members?”

Gustus was gone, and now Eva was as well. Gustus had loved Lexa like she was his own blood. Eva was less personable, but she was strong, and she and Lexa shared many of the same ideals.

“Luna and Igor are still members. They still believe in the alliance.”

“And what of Titus?”

“He is still outnumbered,” Lexa said simply. “He would not be able to sway the Conclave’s purpose to suit his own personal gain.”

It was true, Lexa thought. The Conclave, at its inception was intended to be a consortium of leaders who knew the Commander best, who then could be trusted to pick his or her spirit out of a populations of thousands— _tens_ of thousands. Such a crucial task required the right personnel to be involved. The members of the Conclave were hand selected by the Commanders themselves to ensure their spirits were properly identified in the hereafter.

When the members of the Conclave passed, as inevitably happened at some point, the Commander would select their replacement. A remaining majority of the others would have to approve, and then a ceremony would be held to authenticate their newest member. It took time, preparation, travel arrangements for the clans to congregate for a special occasion. With Mount Weather looming over them, there hadn’t been an opportunity.

Now, it appeared Lexa would have to make time for it.

When used appropriately, the Conclave was an elegant method of ensuring that their people always found their rightful leaders—but it wasn’t immune to willful exploitation. If anything happened to either Igor or Luna, Titus would only have one left to oppose him. After that, there could be no majority. Such a predicament hadn’t happened in their society’s entire existence.

“Titus may not be able to yet,” Indra said,  as well-versed in their politics as any of Lexa’s advisors. She could easily keep up with the endless political and economic entanglements that held their people together (and sometimes drove them apart). “But don’t think that he won’t try, Heda. I shudder to think who he would try to ascend in your stead.”

Lexa had a pretty decent idea.

“With the enemy expanding its influence in the north, we will need to gather our remaining allies together,” Lexa said. “Even the outlying clans. We need to be able to put together at least an equally unified front, and that won’t happen if we’re depending on them to gather their own intelligence.”

Indra nodded in agreement. “Without messengers, it could take a month for word to reach Graunakru, maybe even longer for Desakru.”

“We don’t have an entire month to waste.”

“Should I send messages to the clan leaders instructing them to come to Polis?”

Lexa glanced around the sleepy city, half laid in ruins. It didn’t instill confidence, and if Lexa was trying to inspire her remaining allies, she needed to lead them to a thriving, hospitable settlement. The people of Polis needed some more time to cope with the devastation they’d faced. Then the rebuilding could begin.

Visitors traveling to Polis would also be at risk of attack if they accidentally passed too closely through any of the three rebel territories surrounding the city.

“No,” Lexa said. “Give messages to your fastest riders to send to the clan leaders, but tell them we will not be meeting in Polis.”

“Then where?” Indra frowned. “Hongedakru?”

“No. Igor’s territory is nearly as surrounded as we are. The other clans are also not comfortable with the dangers that dwell in the Hongeda forests.”

There were all sorts of terrifying beasts living in the northern forests. The Hongeda were quite used to their mutated animals—in some cases even _training_ them—but others wouldn’t necessarily be willing to visit.

“Staungedakru?”

Lexa gave her an exasperated stare. “Indra, please be reasonable.”

Staungedakru made their homes in a vast array of old mining tunnels. Of all the options available, their territory was probably the most depressing. The others were too remote for all seven remaining clans.

Lexa needed someplace centrally located, someplace with a strong presence in the alliance. That only left one option.

Floudonkru.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, word about Polis’s near defeat inevitably spread through the village. Neither Clarke nor Luna told a soul, but despite their silence everyone seemed to know _something_ about what happened in the capital.

There were also people who seemed to know even more than Clarke did. They said that the Ice Nation brought grenades, that the Commander had been shot at point blank range. Every time Clarke heard a new rumor circulating around the village, she grew more disheartened. After all, behind every rumor, was there not a kernel of truth?

Had the scouts withheld from Luna? Or did Luna withhold from Clarke? Then again, maybe the stories were just the products of overactive imaginations and fear.

When new messengers from Polis finally arrived, Clarke remembered her conversation with Luna and initially thought the worst. They didn’t bring a summons for the Conclave, however. They brought a message from the capital.

In one week, there would be a gathering of the remaining clans in the alliance. With Luna’s acceptance, Floudonkru would host, in large part due to their fortuitous location. After the chief of Worgedakru was killed, the Commander would also take the opportunity to appoint two successors to the Conclave, restoring their number to five. Luna was most relieved by this last piece of news, which Clarke didn’t fully understand.

The Floudas were then instructed send a boat to Ailonkru to transport their chief and council to the meeting. Ailonkru’s only access to the mainland (that wasn’t in the deadzone) was a bridge that led straight through the heart of Worgedakru. Now that it was enemy territory, asking them to travel on foot was out of the question.

Luna agreed, and on the same day, sent a team of boaters up the northern coast to retrieve their allies. They could travel faster sailing than on foot or horseback, so they would be back in time for the ceremony.

The occasion provided an opportunity for Luna’s people to come together, and they embraced making preparations for their esteemed guests. Their visitors would all be clan leaders or important council members, so their accommodations had to be sufficient.

Together, they set up a collection of tents along a clearing that was usually reserved for archery training. It wasn’t far from where Clarke’s tent was already set up, so one afternoon, Clarke helped hold the poles in place on one tent while the rest of the villagers covered the frame with canvas and secured the ropes to the ground.

“Clarke, may I have a word?” Luna asked, interrupting their progress. Her tone was uncharacteristically severe.

The other elaborate tents were near completion. The rest of the villagers started moving temporary furniture inside. That job didn’t require as many hands, so Clarke was easily able to slip away. The villagers waved and thanked Clarke as she left them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Your friends,” Luna said. “Or rather, one in particular.”

Clarke didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about Pike.

He’d been uneasy the past few weeks under Luna’s command, despite the fact she’d been nothing but hospitable toward him and the other refugees from station thirteen. Niylah, Seth, and the others were exceedingly grateful for the grounders’ hospitality. Pike on the other hand, had been increasingly difficult and argumentative.

“What has he done?” Clarke asked.

“Nothing yet. I’ve been very lenient with him up until this point, Clarke, but his tongue will get him into trouble when the other clan leaders arrive,” Luna said. “If he is not careful, I’m not exaggerating when I say he may have it cut out of his mouth.”

The warning in Luna’s tone was genuine. Since Pike had been so disagreeable, Clarke avoided him most days, and even the other Ark survivors started doing the same. Apparently, it had only gotten worse after that.

“I’ll talk to him,” Clarke promised.

“Please do. Our crew is supposed to return from Ailonkru tonight, and our other guests are due to arrive tomorrow morning. With the state of the alliance, I will not have him ruining this meeting for us. If he has an issue with that, I will have him removed from this village permanently. Is that clear?”

Clarke nodded.

She found him back in his smaller tent at the far edge of the village. The Arkers from station thirteen didn’t receive the extravagant quarters Clarke was afforded, but that was largely the result of her celebrity amongst the grounders. She only had enough room to poke her head inside before the place felt crowded.

 He was predictably alone and surly as ever, managing his frustrations by weaving more rope. A tall stack of rope, maybe fifty feet, sat next to him on the ground. He kept his legs folded beneath him, only pausing long enough to look up at his intruder before returning his attention to his work.

“Can I help you?” he asked offhandedly.

Clarke considered being delicate with him. She knew the things he and his people had gone through, and it engendered sympathy from her. They’d suffered much longer than Clarke could imagine—nearly as long as she’d been alive.

Then she remembered: that was precisely the reason she didn’t need to gently ease into the topic. Pike wouldn’t have been able to keep his people alive as long as he did if he were some delicate flower she had to take care not to step on. Clarke opted for the more direct approach.

“We need to talk,” Clarke said.

He gave her a perplexed look.

“Listen…” Clarke sighed, rubbing her index fingers against her temples. “Pike, you’re being an ass.”

Pike bristled at her words, instantly dropping his work into a heap on the ground. Other than the verbal shots he’d occasionally take at his grounder hosts, it was the most emotional reaction he’d had since arriving.

“Luna has been nothing but kind to you since you’ve gotten here. We’ve got food, shelter, protection,” Clarke added before he had a chance to retaliate. “These people aren’t deaf. Many of them speak English just as well as anybody from the Ark, and even the ones that don’t are smart enough to tell when they’re being insulted. These people are our hosts, Pike.”

“They’re still grounders,” he said simply, as if that settled the matter.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but down here, everyone’s a grounder.”

“Well, we’ve been down here fifteen years, and _my_ people were the only ones gettin’ attacked.”

“Luna didn’t attack your people,” Clarke argued.

“They’re all an alliance, right? As long as she’s a part of it, she may as well have. If their Commander ordered her to kill us, she’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Clarke didn’t have a comeback at first. A beat of silence passed, and Pike thought he’d won their debate.

“Luna wouldn’t kill me,” Clarke finally said.

“And what about the rest of us?” Pike challenged. “I know I’m on the naughty list, but the others are just as expendable as me. What’s gonna happen to them whenever this _Luna_ gets what she wants?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to them.”

Pike scoffed. “How do you know that? Because you _trust_ her?”

Clarke didn’t believe that Luna would betray them, but she’d recently learned a difficult lesson about the dangers of trusting anyone. She wouldn’t soon forget what happened the last time she did.

The difference between then and now? Now Clarke was expecting to have the rug pulled from beneath her feet at some point; she wasn’t going to be blindsided again.

“Because until this thing is over, she needs me to stay on her side.” Clarke knew it was true the moment she said it. “She also knows that you all are my _friends_ , Pike.”

After what they’d been through over the past month, Clarke couldn’t help but claim them as her friends.

Pike calmed slightly but still wasn’t completely mollified. “So?”

“If she needs me to stay on her side, she’s not going to jeopardize that to hurt you—or any of the others. That is, unless you give her a reason to,” Clarke warned.

Pike played with the edges of his rope, twirling the unwoven fibers between his fingers. He delayed his answer, but Clarke waited patiently as he considered. Nearly five minutes passed in silence. The first grounders would be arriving from Ailonkru tonight, and Clarke didn’t plan on leaving until he agreed.

“Fine,” Pike said finally. “I’ll try to play nice, but I still don’t trust them though. Hope you know what you’re doin’ here.”

“Good—because the other clans are all arriving here tomorrow morning.”

His eyes widened in shock. “But—”

“Pike,” Clarke scolded.

“Fine.” His expression turned dubious again, as he took in Clarke’s full appearance.

After Octavia’s painstaking work, Clarke hardly recognized her own reflection. That was a huge portion of its appeal. Clarke was beginning to feel less and less like the person who’d left Camp Jaha in a hopeless fog—and now she look as different too. Her mind was sharper. Clearer. The burden she’d run from hadn’t lessened any, but Clarke started finding new ways to shoulder it.

“I don’t have to…?” Pike trailed off and waved around at Clarke’s general appearance. Her braided hair was a relatively new look that he hadn’t seen yet, and the paint under her eyes was even more recent. “I’m not goin’ out there if I have to look like that.”

“Nobody expects you to wear braids, Pike. You don’t even have hair.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You can look however you want,” Clarke said. “Just be civil. If you want them to remain peaceful, don’t spit in their faces when they’re helping you.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

It was the best promise Clarke could realistically hope for. She saw herself out, nearly running into Niylah and Seth outside. They were surprised to see her so far from her part of the village, but they cheerfully waved at her as she passed. They’d actually made a few friends in Floudonkru and were slowly started to learn their language. They were happy here. Clarke idly wondered how long it would last—she hoped for a long time.

Members from the clan’s hunting parties slowly started trickling in throughout the late afternoon and early evening. They caught as much as they could carry across their backs then returned to the village.

Clarke spotted one of the hunters hauling a deer over his shoulder. It had two tails but looked nothing like the terrifying one she’d seen just after landing. Octavia was one of the next ones on the path, followed by Lincoln. The two of them shot just over a dozen hares and brought their haul in to add to the pile for prepping. Meanwhile, a group of villagers worked on starting a fire in the pit.

Octavia spotted Clarke from a distance and beckoned Lincoln to follow her.

“You’re looking pretty useless today, Griffin,” she commented jokingly. “Why don’t you grab a bow and come help us?”

Clarke shook her head. “I don’t have one.” The only weapon she carried was her gun—she’d let Luna lock away the rifle she first arrived with because it was too cumbersome to carry on a regular basis—and she’d neglected to learn to shoot arrows or throw spears.

There were many spare weapons sitting about since the hunters started returning in earnest. Lincoln grabbed a forgotten medium sized bow and a quiver of arrows from beside the pit, handing it to Clarke.

“Oh look,” Octavia said with a smirk. “Now what were you saying again?”

“I’ve never used a bow before. I don’t know how to shoot.”

“That’s the whole point. Everyone is having fun tonight, and it’s about time I had some too. I live to watch you struggle.”

Octavia was looking forward to reveling in Clarke’s ineptitude, but from behind her, Lincoln gave Clarke a wink. He’d taught Octavia a fair amount of technique since he’d known her, and now it appeared as if he’d do the same for Clarke.

“You know what?” Clarke allowed herself a smile. “You’re on.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s first attempt was pitiful.

An enormous boar stood thirty feet from her, nibbling on the leaves from a nearby bush. Clarke hid herself behind a tree and drew the string back as far as she could. She held her position while she aimed, but her arms began shaking from pulling the bowstring, so when she finally released, the arrow fluttered to the ground, its point sticking into the soil halfway between her and the target.

The boar lifted its head toward Clarke and stared at her, unimpressed.

Octavia started giggling. It grew stronger until she erupted in full throated laughter, doubling over and clutching at her stomach.  At some point during Octavia’s lighting fit, the boar decided it’d had quite enough. All one hundred pounds of it scurried away, disappearing into the trees.

“Octavia,” Clarke groaned. This only made her laugh harder.

Lincoln handed her another arrow while Octavia was too distracted to notice. “Narrow your stance,” he instructed her. Clarke shuffled her feet closer together. “Push out with your left hand as you’re pulling with the right. Don’t pinch the string—wrap your fingers around it.”

He pointed to a group of quails gathered in the distance, not far from where the boar had been standing previously. They presented a much smaller target. Clarke cast him a doubtful glance. Lincoln gave her a reassuring nod.

“Aim quickly, then release,” he whispered.

Clarke drew the string back with three of her fingers this time and didn’t struggle against its resistance as she did before. Lincoln quickly tapped the underside of her elbow to make her lift it. Once Clarke was confident she’d found her target, she let go. The arrow soared through the air, striking the torso of the bird sitting in the middle of the group. The others flapped their wings wildly and scattered.

Octavia’s laughter cut off abruptly, and Clarke’s smile grew a mile wide. Lincoln offered her a high five.

“That isn’t—you—” Octavia stuttered.

Clarke said, “I think the words you’re looking for are, ‘Good job Clarke.’”

Lincoln retrieved Clarke’s first kill, and they continued their next round of hunting. Octavia was still a more efficient shooter, but Clarke managed to hit a few hares on her own. After Octavia reasserted her dominance, she returned to her good spirits.

They handed over their kills to the village cooks. While Clarke, Octavia, and Lincoln left to hunt, they’d built an impressive fire in the pit. The first round of meat was already hung and roasting on the spits. The event brought the village to life in a way Clarke had never seen it. She watched them work in awe.

“Well, fuck me,” Octavia muttered from beside her.

Clarke looked toward her in alarm. Octavia was looking toward one spot in particular behind Clarke’s back. She twisted around to see what could’ve possibly prompted that response.

A group of riders dismounted their horses. Clarke tensed when she saw the familiar form of Indra. As she led her horse away to the feeding trough, the rest of the group became visible.

For one agonizing moment, Clarke’s heart stood still.

In front of her, standing in the center of the group, was Lexa.

She was busy speaking with Luna, who showed the first of the new visitors their quarters. They’d arrived a full day early.

Lexa didn’t look as lively as Clarke remembered. Her posture wilted, and she was terribly pale. Inevitably, Lexa’s eyes started to wander. As if by some magnetic force between them, the first place they landed was on Clarke—from a hundred feet away, and across a crowd of people, no less. At first, Clarke was too stunned to react, but Lexa didn’t seemed surprised to see her at all.

She stared at Clarke greedily. Unabashedly and unapologetically. Once the shock of seeing Lexa unexpectedly wore off and Clarke regained her critical faculties, it actually started to piss her off.

 Lexa no longer had the right to look at Clarke like that anymore. She’d given that up the moment she abandoned Clarke on the mountain.

Lincoln slipped away sometime during the stare down and was nowhere to be found when Clarke finally broke the spell between them.

“Let’s get out of here,” she told Octavia, who nodded earnestly.

They headed toward Clarke’s tent, which momentarily brought them closer to the group she was trying to avoid. She had to pass them to reach her quarters. She and Octavia hid as best they could, hugging the outskirts of the circular arrangement of tents.

Lexa didn’t have to go far to catch up with them. Clarke had hoped she would take the hint, but she wasn’t so lucky. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Lexa’s hand closed around her arm from behind.

“Clarke, wait,” Lexa said, giving her a slight tug.

Clarke yanked her arm away and didn’t look back. The rest of Lexa’s attendants were watchful, but they didn’t dare interfere. Indra was the only one who readied herself to intervene if necessary. She’d returned from tying up her horse and came to Lexa’s side at once.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Clarke shot back. She took off again toward her own tent.

Lexa made to follow her, and Octavia stepped between them, staring daggers at the grounder Commander. Though she and Clarke were on better terms, she had certainly had no love to spare for Lexa.

“She said she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Octavia repeated harshly. She folded her arms in front of her chest and blocked Lexa’s path forward.

When Lexa rolled her eyes and tried to step around her, Octavia shoved her back her in the shoulder guard. It wasn’t hard, but the gesture was enough to silence the group of onlookers. A couple of whispers broke out, nothing more. They all watched warily for Lexa’s reaction to the challenge against her authority.

That was Octavia’s first and last mistake of the day.

Lexa’s hand flashed out, and when Octavia lifted her arm to block the strike she was certain would follow, Lexa grabbed her forearm and twisted it behind her. After a couple of neat twists from Lexa, so fast Octavia didn’t have a chance to react to them, Octavia lied with her face pressed into the dirt and Lexa’s knee digging into her back.

Indra’s eyes were widened with alarm, and even Lexa didn’t relish the takedown quite like Clarke expected. She rose as quickly as she could, looking quite stiff and pained by the action. Lexa cast one last glance at Clarke before shuffling toward her designated tent and slipping inside.

Octavia rolled onto her back, clutching the shoulder that had been nearly dislocated. Clarke rushed forward and knelt at her side, checking on her injuries. Indra also stepped forward; she clenched her jaw as she stared down at her former second.

“You should know better than that,” Indra growled at Octavia before turning on her heel and retreating to the Commander’s tent also.

Octavia sat up slowly. The embarrassment of being overpowered did more lasting damage than any of her physical ailments. She glared at rest of the Polis attendants until they all scattered or found something more interesting to talk about.

“That really wasn’t your best idea ever,” Clarke told her.

Octavia’s shoulder itself felt fine—probably just a strain that would be back to normal in a couple of days. Octavia rolled it forward, trying to regain some motion in the arm.

“Yeah, well I’ll let you know in a few hours if it was worth it,” she said.

“Thank you.”

Octavia didn’t need to ask what Clarke was thanking her for. She nodded, and after a minute, Clarke helped pull her back to her feet. With nobody left to follow them, the two strolled at a more leisurely pace towards Clarke’s tent.

“I don’t agree with everything you did, Clarke,” Octavia said, an uncharacteristic seriousness creeping into her voice. “I’ll never agree with some of it, but at least now I understand _why_ you did it.”

Clarke looked at Octavia, and the anger she was so used to seeing whenever they talked about the past was gone. Clarke wasn’t sure when exactly it had gone away, but three months later, it comforted her all the same.

“And Lexa?” she added after a considerable pause.

Octavia glared at her. “Don’t push it.”

They didn’t stay together long in Clarke’s tent. Octavia grew restless at Lincoln’s disappearance, and even Clarke started to wonder why he hadn’t bothered trying to find them yet. At least now that the most senior Trikru officials were otherwise occupied. Once she felt well enough, Octavia set off to find him, leaving Clarke alone.

Clarke flung herself across her mattress. It was surprisingly soft despite the fact it was stuffed with leaves and dried grass. She was quite content to stay there all night if it meant avoiding having to face Lexa again. Clarke had expected some time to prepare herself mentally, but her arrival a full day early was like a suckerpunch to the gut. She closed her eyes, attempting to relax.

The flap to her tent swung open not long after, and a beam of afternoon sunlight came pouring into the tent. Clarke could could see the glow from behind her eyelids; she kept them closed.

The only person to let themselves inside Clarke’s tent unannounced was Luna. She waited for a greeting of some sort, but none came. When Clarke rolled to her side and had a glance, Luna was nowhere to be seen. Indra’s silhouette stood in the doorway instead.

“You need to come with me,” Indra said. “Now.”

“What do you want?” Clarke asked. Indra didn’t answer. “You’re not the leader here. If you want me to give me an order, it will have to go through Luna.”

“I can involve the Floudonkru chief, but it would be better for everyone if you didn’t delay. Your skills are needed. Urgently.”

Clarke noticed a large bag hanging from Indra’s shoulder. It wasn’t carrying weapons, and Indra was never the type to carry supplies by herself. She had lower level officers handle such trivial tasks. Clarke also knew Indra well enough to realize that she would never request Clarke’s help unless the situation were dire.

She reluctantly nodded, following her out the tent.

There was nobody within earshot, so Clarke asked her quietly, “What is this about?”

“The Commander has been injured.”

Clarke frowned. “Just now?” Lexa hadn’t even taken a single blow during Octavia’s takedown, and Clarke was convinced that of the two, her friend had gotten the worst of it.

Indra shook her head. “A reinjury. The first was during the battle.”

So Lexa had been injured. That particular rumor had been true.

“Why are you asking me? There are plenty of other healers around that have far more experience than I do.”

“The only members of the alliance that know the extent of the Commander’s injury are myself, our healer in Polis, and now Luna,” Indra explained. “It needs to stay that way. The Commander insists on quieting the rumors of her vulnerability. She has been taking care of the injury herself during the journey.”

“And you think that I won’t tell anybody.”

“Unless you have a death wish, then no. In the past, you’ve proven yourself to be quite skilled in the art of secrecy.” Indra fixed her with an accusatory stare. “Has that changed?”

Something in Indra’s inflection made Clarke believe she was referring to Tondc. Clarke looked away from her and shook her head, mostly to avoid having to respond out loud.

Did Indra really know about Clarke’s involvement? If she did, how could she still bear speaking to her after what she let happen?

They stopped in front of the Commander’s tent. It didn’t look all that different from Clarke’s. Indra pulled the bag free from her shoulders and unceremoniously draped it across Clarke’s. Indra wouldn’t be following her.

Clarke took a deep, steadying breath and went inside.

Her face flushed the moment she spotted Lexa. Her back was turned to the entrance, and she was leaned forward, grasping the edge of the table in front of her. The canvas covering Lexa’s tent was thicker than the others, and it was mostly dark inside.

“Indra sent me,” Clarke announced. She wanted there to be no doubt that she wasn’t here under her own volition. Lexa slowly pushed herself upright and turned to face Clarke.

If Clarke thought she looked pale before, that was nothing compared to how her skin looked now. She was colorless, and a cold sweat was covering her face despite the temperate climate. She wavered slightly on her feet without the support of her hands but was making a clear effort to hide it.

“You came,” Lexa said lowly. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“Indra told me you were injured,” Clarke looked away quickly, adding bitterly: “The way she said it didn’t make it sound like I had much of a choice.”

“I won’t force you to assist me. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will tend to it myself.”

She would do no such thing, of course. Both of them knew that. Lexa couldn’t manage her own injury in this state, and she was stubborn. Asking for Clarke’s assistance was likely some combination of a need for secrecy, like Indra mentioned, and her desire to catch Clarke alone. Clarke wasn’t feeling in an apologetic mood and didn’t feel like letting her off so easily.

“Really, whatever’s going on, you’re going to handle it by yourself?” Clarke raised an eyebrow at her. Lexa looked like she would fall over if someone even bumped into her too hard. “You look like shit, Lexa.”

“You don’t,” Lexa replied without thinking. She only realized her mistake after the words left her mouth. Her eyes grew large.

Meanwhile Clarke blushed, which only made her more aggravated. “You aren’t allowed to say things like that anymore. You lost that right three months ago. Do you remember? Or do I need to remind you?”

“I have no problems with my memory.”

“Good,” Clarke said coldly. “So you remember that I don’t trust you.”

Lexa met the challenge gracefully, nodding once.

She began disarming herself—maybe in response to Clarke’s statement, or maybe she was going to do so anyway—unstrapping her sword and dagger from her waist and pulling off a long knife from her forearm beneath her coat. She tossed them aside, starting to unbuckle the armor on her upper body.

“Where are you hurt?” Clarke asked.

She turned to the side after Lexa lifted the pauldron over her head and began pulling off her coat. She received no answer.

“Lexa did you hear me?” Clarke asked again.

This time, there was a clearly audible thud from Lexa’s general direction. Clarke turned around just in time to see her hand slip from the table. Her body collapsed to the earth a second later.

Clarke’s instincts kicked in immediately, and she rushed forward, pulling Lexa onto her back and elevating her head. She panicked. She wasn’t ready to have anyone die in her arms, much less Lexa, no matter how angry she made Clarke.

“What happened to you?” Clarke muttered angrily, even knowing that Lexa couldn’t answer anymore.

There were no visible signs of trauma. Yet when Clarke adjusted her hand to shift her body into a more stable position, her palm pressed against a warm, wet spot on her abdomen. She pulled it away, and saw fresh blood covering its surface.

Clarke flew to Indra’s bag, pulling away clean cloths. With one hand, she applied pressure, and with the other, she prepared a set of stitches. Once the supplies were ready, she pulled up Lexa’s shirt to reveal the wound. It was about six inches long and too perfectly straight to have been made by a bladed weapon during combat. This was a surgical wound. It was already stitched together once, but Lexa’s exertion today had pulled at least half of the old threads out.

The pressure Clarke applied relieved some of the more superficial bleeding, but the deeper parts of the wound still hemorrhaged slowly. She set to work immediately, throwing stitch after stitch into the open wound. Eventually, the bleeding all but slowed to a halt. Clarke was able to close the superficial skin at her own pace, so she made sure that they were even and smooth. Unless Lexa tore them out again, it would result in less scarring later.

Lexa didn’t stir. Her breaths came slow and regular, but her pulse was thready and she was alive. Clarke took another clean cloth and held more pressure to the wound again.

Then she waited.

Vulnerability was something Clarke hardly ever associated with Lexa. There had been a moment, before the battle, but nothing prior and nothing since. It was easier for Clarke to cling to her anger when she knew Lexa was strong and had willfully betrayed her.

Lexa being attacked and nearly bleeding to death in front of her wasn’t nearly as satisfying. Clarke could even admit that Lexa’s fleeting weakness her uncomfortable.

 If Lexa died, what was left of the coalition would fall apart. The effect would go beyond Clarke and her people. Luna, Remy, Tobias, Igor, Octavia, Lincoln, Pike, Niylah… All of them stood to lose significantly if the power balance shifted. Their fates were closely tied with the broken young woman in front of Clarke.

Clarke pursed her lips together in concentration. She cleaned the wound, being especially careful around the new stitches. She covered it with clean dressing and applied strips of fresh bandages. Lexa’s body stayed still and unresponsive.

She nearly finished the bandage when Lexa finally came back around.

“My people believe you’ve been gifted with some otherworldly strength.” Her voice was hoarse but carried its usual resoluteness. “After what you accomplished at the mountain, their argument is hard to refute. A century of war with the Maunon, ended in a single night.”

Once Lexa awoke, Clarke yanked her hands away like she’d been physically burned. She determinedly ignored Lexa, avoiding all eye contact. She quietly returned the unused supplies back to Indra’s bag, and sifted through the vials at the bottom. Lexa watched her closely, her head propped up slightly where it rested on her discarded armor.

The silence suffocated Clarke, but actually having the conversation would have been unbearable. The tent felt too small to contain her anxiety. Now that her responsibilities were done, she wanted to escape as soon as possible.

“I received no personal enjoyment from what transpired that night, Clarke,” Lexa assured her, and it was clear that she was referring to Clarke’s supposed _victory_. It was also clear that Clarke’s silence was starting to wear her down. “No matter what you may think of me now, I was relieved to hear of your survival.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Clarke muttered.

“Had I been offered no deal, I would have gladly fought at your side until the mountain was defeated.”

“Then why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you send anyone back?”

Lexa shook her head. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“So keeping your word to the Mountain Men meant more than keeping your word to the Sky People. Good to know. Unfortunately for you, I survived—bet that kind of ruined your plans, huh?”

Lexa bristled at the comment. “You know I had no plans to dissolve our alliance. A proposition was given to me, and I made the best decision for my people.”

“Was it really the _best_ decision you could have made?” Clarke asked bitterly.

Lexa answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“You rescued—what was it?—two hundred of your own people from the harvest room? Only to incite a civil war? Tell me, Lexa… how many of your people died in Polis defending what’s left of your alliance?”

Clarke’s words cut deeply, and Lexa recoiled at the unexpected reminder. Making Lexa feel a fraction of the pain that Clarke felt on a daily basis brought her an inordinate amount of satisfaction. The feeling was short lived. As expected, Lexa recovered her usual calm intensity before Clarke had the chance to gloat.

“Attacking me won’t relieve the guilt that ails you,” Lexa said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The most peace I’ve had since you’ve been here was when you were unconscious. If I could bottle that feeling for a while, it’d be great.”

“Was that a threat?” Lexa raised an eyebrow at her. Clarke didn’t immediately answer, so Lexa added, “You are a lot of things, but you’re no murderer, Clarke.”

“You know nothing about me anymore.”

“I know you don’t kill indiscriminately.”

“There were over three hundred unarmed men, women, and children inside that mountain. Many of them had no quarrel with me, and some were on our side. It didn’t matter; I burned them all alive. Before that, three hundred of your warriors died when they attacked my dropship. Another forty died when my friends helped me blow up the bridge between our territories.”

Clarke paused. She reached beneath her jacket until her fingers ran across the gun at her waist. It had been some time since she’d held it. She freed it from her belt and held it with the barrel pointing directly at Lexa. She didn’t flinch. She stared back at Clarke defiantly, not sparing her weapon a second glance.

“After all that bloodshed,” Clarke continued, “how much does one more kill really matter?”

Lexa made a herculean effort to prop herself on her elbows. She answered coolly, “I don’t know, Wanheda. You’re supposed to be the expert on death, are you not?”

Clarke’s jaw muscles twitched, and an unwelcome rage flowed through her veins after hearing her title used against her. She rested her finger on the trigger but didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have the urge to shoot, but she wanted to reassure herself that she _could_.

Lexa didn’t have power over her. Clarke was in control.

The tent’s entrance flap swung open. Luna pushed through, and she stared wide eyed at the scene unfolding before her. She was too alarmed to say anything at first.

Clarke flushed with embarrassment, and lowered her gun, tucking it away in her belt again. She uttered a quick apology to Luna and pointedly avoided looking in Lexa’s direction. Luna recovered quickly, but the glance she Clarke let her know that they _would_ be having a discussion about her behavior later.

“Clarke. I need you to come with me at once,” Luna said. “I will have Indra take over from here. The Commander needs to rest.”

“What is it now?” Clarke asked. It felt as if every fifteen minutes, she was being pulled in a new direction.

“The boaters have returned from Ailonkru.”

“Already?”

Luna nodded. “They found someone stranded in a rowboat on the shoals. He carried this with him.” Luna held a familiar canvas bag out in front of her, and Clarke stepped forward to accept it.

It was one of the bags Clarke helped make at the dropship. The straps were made from the old seat belts and still had the Ark’s logo emblazoned across the fastener. She rummaged inside. No weapons. Just a laptop computer and a couple of bottles of liquor— _fancy_ bottles of liquor. They looked far better than anything from the Ark.

Clarke had a vague idea where Ailonkru was located. It was too far away for someone to have wandered there accidentally. Had this been stolen from one of her friends?

“He said he was from Camp Jaha,” Luna explained. “He seemed distrustful of us and would not tell us anything further. Remy has him restrained on the docks. We need you to identify him.”

Clarke nodded at once.

Remy was waiting for them. Like the other men from the boats, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. When he saw Luna and Clarke approaching, he scurried to find a loose shirt to pull over his head. She caught a brief glimpse of the raised pink scars across his chest, and her stomach lurched uncomfortably.

“Where is he?” Luna asked him.

Remy pointed behind him, where a huddled mass rested on the dock. His back was turned, and his clothing was tattered. He didn’t struggle against the ropes binding his hands and his feet. Clarke stepped around him slowly.

Then she stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw slackening. He looked considerably worse than the last time she saw him. A barely healed gash extended across his forehead, and looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. Clarke still recognized him instantly.

“Murphy?”


	6. The Edge of Extinction

Clarke handed Murphy another cup of water, and he gulped it down greedily. She poured him another, his eighth consecutive glass. Water was Murphy’s first request after Clarke ordered him to be untied. Luna sent them to her quarters on land while she settled the rest of their visitors from Ailonkru.

When Luna returned, they would debrief. The plan didn’t appeal to him, but he didn’t have choice in the matter.

Murphy drank with less vigor this time. When he finished, he turned over the empty glass in his hands and glanced at Clarke’s appearance skeptically. She never spared herself a second thought about Murphy after he left but had naturally assumed she would never see him again.  The last time they’d seen each other felt like ages ago.

They were different people now. Both had left Camp Jaha, headed down their divergent paths. Clarke had done unspeakable things, and Murphy looked like he’d seen unspeakable things.

Clarke took a chance at small talk while they waited. She hadn’t particularly liked Murphy before, and at one point, she’d nearly gotten him hanged.

“How’s your head?” she asked.

He gently rubbed at the area around his cut. “It feels like I got blindsided by a blunt object.”

“I hate it when that happens.”

“And what about you?” Murphy asked, leaning back into his chair. “Why are you so—” he gestured up and down to Clarke’s general appearance, “—like _this_? You look like a grounder.”

“Long story,” Clarke shrugged.

Murphy narrowed his eyes at her. “Where is everyone else?”

“Back at camp.”

“Why—”

Luna pushed the door open, and Murphy hurried to sit upright as quickly as he possibly could. He went silent, watching Luna carefully from the corners of his eyes. The last time he’d been held captive by a clan of grounders, he’d been beaten within an inch of his life and sent back to the dropship with a deadly virus.

He needn’t have worried.

Luna didn’t spare him a second glance, uttering a quick apology to Clarke instead. A moment later, Indra appeared in the doorway behind her, leading a very unstable looking yet stubborn Commander at her side. Clarke had to resist the urge to hit something.

Barely an hour had passed since Lexa nearly bled out in her tent, and she was already risking another injury to herself.

“I told the Commander there was no reason for her to come, but she insisted,” Luna explained.

“Good to know I’m not the only one she doesn’t listen to,” Clarke muttered loudly.

Indra looked primed to tear Clarke’s head from her shoulders, but Lexa stilled her with a hand across her forearm. “Let her be, Indra.”

Indra calmed but continued to leer, and Lexa passed another longing glance at Clarke.

Clarke huffed in irritation and looked away from her. Murphy watched them all cluelessly, hoping he didn’t get caught in the middle of a spat with anyone. Every woman in the room could kill him without breaking a sweat. Before their dispute had a chance to escalate further, Luna—ever the mediator—showed everyone to their seats. They formed a half circle with John Murphy squirming uncomfortably at the front.

“Murphy, is it?” Luna asked him. He nodded nervously and fidgeted with his hands. “What brought you so far to the north?”

He peered uneasily at Clarke, his only perceived ally in the group. She said nothing, and Murphy swallowed thickly. “We were looking for the City of Light.”

Luna was the only one left in the room who didn’t roll their eyes or sneer. Clarke had heard quite enough about the place when Jaha kept ranting about it back at camp. She’d been glad to hear the last of it after their departure. Apparently Indra and Lexa had been equally inundated by the rumors of its greatness.

Luna’s tone was nonjudgmental when she spoke again. “You were duped. The City of Light is a myth. It’s nothing more than a rumor created to give hope to those who were cast away from our clans.”

“No, it’s _real_ ,” Murphy argued frantically. “I’ve _seen_ it.”

The others looked amongst each other with growing skepticism. Nobody said as much, but they all came to the same conclusion: Murphy was delusional. He saw it in the way they looked at him, and he began to panic.

“Listen, I haven’t actually been there, okay? But she showed me!”

“ _Who_ showed you, Murphy?” Clarke asked. She distinctly recalled there being no women in the group that left with the former chancellor.

“ALIE. She’s not like a real person, she’s a—” he trailed off, embarrassed by how ridiculous he sounded, “—she’s a projection—like a—”

“Like a hologram?” Clarke frowned. His story was going from highly suspect to unmitigated disaster.

Murphy’s eyes lit up. “That’s it.”

There was no longer technology for holograms on the ground. Mount Weather and Camp Jaha vied for the title of most technologically advanced settlements on Earth, and even they didn’t have capabilities for holograms. They were relics from their accomplished past, no longer a reality.

“You said it was a hologram,” Clarke said. “Are you sure it wasn’t a hallucination? It looks like you hit your head pretty hard, and—”

“I’m not making this up!”

Murphy slammed his palms into his armrests before leaping from his chair.  Luna stood just as quickly. She drew a long knife from her belt and had it against Murphy’s throat in a second, her reflexes as sharp as the blade in her hand.

“You will sit down, or I will make it so you never stand up again,” Luna threatened him. Murphy tensed but did as he was told at once. “Calm yourself, boy.”

He gripped the armrests so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was _not_ calm; he looked like he’d rather be swimming in a pool of hungry sharks. If this continued, he would probably snap, and that wouldn’t benefit anyone involved.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Clarke attempted. “Where did you go after you left Camp Jaha?”

“We went north. The Dead Zone. We traveled with nomads. They knew the area pretty well—said they used to be your people—but they betrayed us and went on by themselves. There were solar panels, and then a drone, and we had to cross an ocean, and…” He trailed off, disturbed by some distant memory.

“And then what?” Clarke frowned.

She’d learned about the Dead Zone from Luna. It was, as its name implied, an area utterly devoid of life. But solar panels? Drones? Holograms seemed reasonable by comparison. His story grew far less plausible the longer he spoke.

“This _thing_ in the water ate two of our friends whole,” he said.

Clarke looked skeptically toward Luna, who was listening with rapt attention. If anyone present knew anything about the dangers lurking in the water, it was her. She pursed her lips together while she considered his story.

“I suppose it’s possible that your friends ran across a school of Lampas,” Luna said. “We occasionally see them in the waters to the south, but none of them are large enough to eat a man whole.”

“Well these were,” Murphy insisted.

“If they truly do live in the waters surrounding the dead zone, it’s reasonable. That area has always been highly affected by radiation. Anything that has survived there since the war is bound to be a mutant.”

Murphy nodded. “Jaha and I made it across, but I couldn’t take it anymore. We split. I found a lighthouse—that’s where I picked up the booze—and made myself at home for a while.”

Luna, Clarke, Lexa, and Indra waited for Murphy to continue, but he didn’t. That couldn’t have been the entire story. He’d yet to explain his head injury, the hologram he’d claimed to have seen, or how he became stranded on the boat.

Murphy stared at the ground and incessantly toed at a particular point on the wood floor. He was caught in a predicament, knowing that he needed to continue telling his story even though everyone present doubted him.

“That doesn’t sound like that’s everything. Keep going,” Luna urged him, almost motherly.

He took a deep, steadying breath. “At the lighthouse, someone left a suicide video. It was right before the bombs hit—sounded like he might have been responsible.”

Lexa cut in, “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Murphy answered, shaking his head. “It’s not like he introduced himself. He said he was sorry, that some woman had the launch codes, then _bam_.” Murphy mimicked a pistol with his right hand held it to his temple. “He was gone. As you might imagine, the place started feeling weird after that. I couldn’t unsee it. After two days, I left, and that’s when Jaha caught up with me again. He’d already lost it when we first separated, but by the time he came back for me, he was nuttier than squirrel shit.

“He found this place—this mansion. Told me he’d finally found his _destiny_. He’d seen the City of Light, knew where it was located, and said he had work to finish before we could leave.”

“So you went with him,” Clarke concluded.

“Where the hell else was I going to go?” Murphy asked. “I had some food in my bag, but that wasn’t going to last me forever. The Dead Zone would have killed me. So I followed that crazy prick to his mansion. I slept in an awesome bed and ate the best food I’ve ever tasted in my life. It’s like the kitchen kept refilling itself, you know? For a few weeks, it was great. Jaha kept himself locked away in his room all day, and I got the run of the place.

“Things started to get strange after that—drones were flying nonstop around the grounds. I thought I might have been seeing stuff at first, but sure enough—they were flying outside the windows. I wanted to ask Jaha about it, since he’d followed the drone to the mansion in the first place. He was nowhere to be found for two whole months. I still heard him working, talking to himself. So I tried to sneak inside and see what he was up to. In hindsight, that was probably a bad move.”

It was Clarke who asked the inevitable question. “What was he working on?”

“An enormous nuclear bomb,” Murphy said.

The room fell absolutely silent. Dust mites swirled in the room, and a mile away along the coast, the cry of a seagull sounded. Nobody blinked.

All of them knew that nuclear bombs were what put the world in the state it was in right now. Clarke had been taught on the Ark that there were no warheads left on the Earth; they’d all been used during the apocalypse.

“Still think _I_ _’m_ crazy?” Murphy challenged.

“That depends on what happened to this bomb,” Lexa said, not missing a beat.

Murphy visibly lost much of his confidence. That was not a good sign.

“Jaha got pissed that I was spying on him, as you might imagine,” he said. “We fought; I had a champagne bottle in my hand that I ended up smashing over his head. After he passed out, I saw the hologram he’d been talking to for the past two months—ALIE.”

“What did she look like?” Clarke asked.

“She was—” Murphy paused for a moment, considering his words. Eventually, he just shrugged. “She was _hot_. What can I say?”

Four pairs of eyes rolled after his statement, and Clarke thought she heard Indra mutter something about _branwada_. She needed to reel Murphy back in and keep him on track before he used up the benefit of the doubt he’d been granted at Clarke’s request.

“And that’s when she told you about the City of Light,” Clarke reasoned.

Murphy nodded. “She invited me there personally. Told me there was a bright future waiting in a new world, and that me and all my friends were invited to join her there. Made it sound like a pretty bang up place. Shit, I won’t lie to you, it _looked_ incredible. But when I asked her what she was doing with Jaha and is bomb, all she said was: ‘It’s time to usher in a new era of intelligence in this world, and to do that we must cleanse away the filth of our archaic past.’”

Clarke frowned deeply, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. “Murphy, that sounds like she was proposing mass genocide.”

“That’s exactly right, Princess.” Murphy was now playing his story nonchalantly, but it was only because it bothered him so profoundly. Clarke recognized his technique and used it herself on occasion; it was the only reason she let his cheeky comment slide. “As soon as I figured it out, I grabbed the laptop Jaha was working from and bolted. I didn’t get very far before the drones came.” He pointed to his forehead wound. “Blunt trauma. I was out for hours, and by the time I woke up, it was pouring rain outside. The laptop got soaked. Everything was gone. Jaha, ALIE, the bomb—the whole damned mansion was empty. So I started running back to camp. It obviously didn’t end up going too well.”

“And now here we are,” Clarke said heavily.

Murphy tapped his finger against the armrests of his chair while the others digested what he’d just told him. Their reactions ranged from still skeptical to highly concerned. Clarke hovered somewhere in the middle, realizing that his story, while an obvious stretch of the imagination, had some evidence to back him up.

He _did_ have a giant scar on his head. He _did_ have the two pristine bottles of booze, bottles that Clarke couldn’t identify and certainly weren’t from any of their own stores. And he _did_ have a laptop computer, which wasn’t one of the kinds issued to technicians on the Ark. Like the bottles he brought with him, the computer was in mint condition—at least other than its water damage.

If Murphy was lying, where had his belongings come from?

“So am I free to go?” Murphy asked.

“You may leave us for the time being, but you will stay in the village until further notice,” Luna said. “My second, Remy, will be keeping a close watch. I believe you two are already acquainted, is that correct?”

Murphy nodded, unable to forget the grounder who’d tied him up on the boat.

“Good. The feast will begin in an hour. As long as you behave amicably, I will grant you permission to join us.”

Murphy’s eyes lit up at the prospect of food. He’d had no decent meal since his fallout at the mansion and looked like he’d do just about anything—making nice with grounders included—to get a free dinner. At least one that he wouldn’t have to pay for with pain or blood.

He shuffled out of the room in a hurry, and nobody stopped him. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence once again. Clarke could feel Lexa’s eyes boring into her from two seats away. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes from wandering in Lexa’s direction, but Clarke didn’t dare indulge herself; she wouldn’t let her win.

Nobody seemed to want to break the spell. Acknowledging what they’d just heard meant entertaining the possibility Murphy was telling the truth, and it was far easier to accept lies.

“Do all Sky People have such active imaginations?” Indra asked with irritation.

“What makes you think he was making it up?” Clarke asked, only half convinced herself.

“It’s clear that he cooked up some story to save his skin,” Indra said. “You can’t possibly believe that nonsense. Even I know that there aren’t any nuclear weapons left in this world. That’s one its few redeeming qualities.”

Clarke pulled one of the clear bottles from Murphy’s bag and traced the smooth scripted lettering with her finger. It was vodka, a kind of liquor Clarke had only heard about but never tasted. If looks were any indication, it was probably a huge improvement from the moonshine that was such a regular staple on the Ark. She sat the bottle gently on the floor next to her feet and placed its twin beside it.

Then Clarke removed the computer, finding it larger than any she’d seen before on the Ark. The body was similar, only this one looked like it had been used for a couple of years at most, nowhere near the full century it had been in existence. There was even a manufacturer’s date printed in small lettering across the bottom: March 14, 2050. Two years before the old world came grinding to a screeching halt.

She pressed the power button curiously, and the laptop screen stayed black, not even a flicker of life left inside it.

Lexa watched Clarke’s inspection carefully. Her reaction, like always, was the most difficult to read.

“Did he have a computer with him when he left your camp?” Lexa asked, honing in on Clarke’s deductions just by watching her.

Clarke shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”

“And there’s no way he could have stolen one without your knowledge?”

“These aren’t even the same kind of computers we had on the Ark.”

“So we have to assume that he got it from someplace else,” Lexa finished. “I know every last inch of our clan territories—every cave, every bunker, and every ruin—and there is nowhere he would have found this in any of our clan territories.”

“His story may be crazy, but we can’t disprove it,” Clarke agreed.

“After what he said, we need to investigate his claims,” Lexa concluded. “Is there a way for you to see what’s really on this machine he brought back with him?”

Luna interrupted, “He said it was ruined by water.”

They fell silent again, flummoxed by the sudden situation they’d found themselves in, possibly sitting on the edge of their own extinction yet apparently powerless to stop it or to even question it. Without the ability to see what was stored inside, the only information they had was John Murphy’s word. And what little he provided was shoddy at best.

That was the scariest part of the entire situation. Clarke had resigned herself to helplessness when an idea struck her suddenly.

It was a longshot at best, but it might be their last viable option.

“I can’t fix the computer, but I know someone who might be able to,” Clarke said. Her statement was met with perplexed looks from the other three women in the room. “Her name is Raven Reyes. She’s the best mechanic the Sky People have ever had. She could have this figured out in no time.”

Surprisingly to Clarke, it was Luna who shot the idea down first.

“That’s out of the question. I will not lead anyone within fifteen miles of the Sky People camp,” Luna said. “Not since they’ve rekindled the fight between our people.”

“Then let _me_ go to them.” Clarke urged.

Lexa cut in. “Not by yourself.”

The dismissal from Lexa made Clarke’s temper flare.

“And I suppose _you_ would volunteer to come with me?” Clarke asked, glowering at her. “That’s not gonna happen. If I wanted to go, you couldn’t stop me.”

“Yes, I could.”

“Not before you bled out first,” Clarke snapped.

“Clarke, that’s quite enough,” Luna scolded, having heard enough of their asinine argument. Clarke shut up at once. “Like it or not, you are a figure of importance in this alliance. You don’t have a formal title, but surely by now you must realize how our clans value your presence. If they believed that I let you be injured—or worse—many would turn on me faster than you can blink.”

“Bellamy and the others won’t attack me,” Clarke said confidently. “They’re my people.”

“Are they?” Luna raised an eyebrow at her. “You left them months ago with no indication of your return, and you have not spoken to them since. I admit that I’m no expert in Sky People customs, but if one of my generals did what you have done, I would assume he was a deserter.” Her expression softened a little. “Take a look at yourself, Clarke. Even since the day I first met you, you’ve changed.”

Clarke looked away, embarrassed. She knew that she _had_ changed. The dead no longer frightened Clarke, and she was harder, stronger, and less trusting. Now she was neither Sky Person nor grounder, instead walking a tumultuous middle ground that was more dangerous than being fully either.

That was precisely why she _had_ to enlist Raven’s help. If Murphy was indeed telling the truth, both sides stood to lose—both of the halves to Clarke’s whole.

“There’s a radio at our old dropship,” Clarke explained. “Nobody lives there anymore, but I can use it to contact the Ark’s command center. If Indra was willing,” she offered gently, “we could pass through Tondc to keep our distance from the mountain. They haven’t sent any missiles that far east since they’ve taken the mountain—there would be no reason for them to start now.”

Everyone looked to Lexa for the final word, even Clarke. Nobody forgot that this affected everyone in the room and those beyond their borders. Clarke kept her chin high and didn’t allow herself to recoil under Lexa’s searching gaze.

It felt like forever before she reacted.

“Very well,” Lexa finally said. “After the ceremony tomorrow, we will ride out to Tondc. Indra will arrange a convoy among the guests present.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke avoided venturing outside before the ceremony began. She stayed holed away inside her tent all day, listening to the bustling activity outside as the village prepared for its massive influx of visitors.

When they did arrive, Clarke even skipped the meeting for the clan leaders. It was one of the rare occasions she was in the know before anyone else, and the news was too disheartening to listen to again.

Octavia stopped by her tent looking for her an hour before sundown. Her face and hair were freshly washed, and her warpaint was precisely and symmetrically smeared across her eyes. Octavia’s initial relief at finding Clarke was soon replaced with annoyance at her lack of preparation.

“If you were planning on going full recluse when Lexa got here, you could’ve at least told me,” Octavia said, taking a seat next to Clarke on her mattress. “Your absence hasn’t gone unnoticed by the people in charge, by the way.”

Clarke shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving tonight anyway.”

Octavia looked at her incredulously. This was the first time Clarke had mentioned it to her. “Last time I asked, you said you were staying in the village as long as you could. What in the hell happened?” Clarke didn’t answer right away. “Does this have anything to do with that dickwad Murphy showing up?”

“Yes and no…”

That noncommittal answer wasn’t going to suffice in the face of Octavia’s curiosity. Clarke ended up telling her Murphy’s entire account of the Dead Zone, sparing no details, but she made sure to finish by clarifying that nothing about his story had been verified yet. Merely the mention of a nuclear bomb had its predicted effect; Octavia was just as troubled by possibility of another nuclear threat as Clarke was.

“Does anybody else know?” Octavia asked softly, as if she were afraid of being overheard.

“Not yet. We need to know if it’s actually true before we send all the clans into a panic.”

“Murphy’s probably the least reliable person on the planet, but a story about a nuclear bomb just seems beyond his capability,” Octavia mused. “What does Murphy have to gain by lying about something like that? If he got caught, he has to know that the grounders would have him executed.”

That was the most sobering part of the whole predicament. If Murphy’s story held up, Clarke didn’t know where that left the alliance. The grounders were at war with each other, but _someone_ needed to answer the larger threat against them. By comparison, their infighting seemed downright petty.

“Come with me,” Clarke said.

Octavia frowned at her. “What?”

“We’re headed back to the dropship to radio Camp Jaha. Murphy brought a computer back with him that we need Raven to look at.”

“There’s only one problem with your plan,” Octavia said. “You won’t be able to reach Raven at Camp Jaha. Mount Weather is covering all frequencies—supposedly for safety. If you want to talk to Camp Jaha, you’re going to have to be forwarded from Mount Weather, and that means persuading Bellamy.”

“I can reason with Bellamy,” Clarke said, trying to convince herself almost as much as Octavia.

“Yeah, well good luck with that,” Octavia scoffed. “Right now Bellamy’s head is stuck so far up his ass, I think he can see his spleen.”

“I have to try,” Clarke said, sounding defeated.

Octavia’s tone softened considerably. “I know.”

“Could Lincoln come too?” Clarke asked.

“I don’t know if he would. He’s trying to keep a low profile until everyone leaves. He’s worried that either Indra or Lexa will try to punish him as a traitor if they find him.”

Clarke had noticed that Lincoln was making himself even more scarce than Clarke was. It was understandable, given his situation, but it made her already short list of friends grow even shorter.

Octavia sensed Clarke’s growing disquiet despite her not saying a word. She nudged Clarke playfully in the elbow, a halfhearted (but appreciated) attempt to lift her spirits.

“Listen,” Octavia said. “We’ve got one hour before this thing starts; that doesn’t give me very long to work my magic.” She gestured to Clarke’s general appearance, which was admittedly worse than usual since she’d had so many more pressing matters on her mind. “No matter what happens with the Conclave, it’s supposed to be a party, Clarke—maybe the last one we’ll have in a long time. Let’s try to enjoy it, okay?”

 _If worse comes to worst_ , Clarke thought, _Octavia and I can just lounge around the outskirts of the village and commiserate together_. She made a mental note to find one of Murphy’s bottles of vodka before leaving for Tondc.

“Deal,” Clarke conceded.

About fifty minutes later, Octavia’s promise to “work her magic” turned out to be a dramatic understatement. She made up a complex series of braids that Clarke had never seen before. Instead of the black coal that Clarke had been mixing for paint, Octavia used the dark blues and purest blacks from Clarke’s own paint collection. She even took scrapings from a shimmering rock she’d found from the beach and highlighted the intricate designs with glittering silver.

When she finished, Octavia handed over Clarke’s makeshift mirror, which was little more than a large shard or reflective glass fixed to a paddle of wood. She hardly recognized herself, and for the first time in while, that was actually a good thing.

Clarke garnered attention in the village the moment she stepped outside, but it was Octavia who seemed to enjoy the praise the most. They ate with the rest of the village, and when the time came, they were able to find a place toward the front of the crowd for the beginning of the ceremony.

Lexa began by giving a dedication the fallen members of the Conclave: Gustus, who’d fallen by her own sword, and Eva, one of the first casualties of the grounders’ civil war. Clarke understood nearly all of the Trigedasleng; despite Lexa’s obvious care for Gustus, she didn’t mention anything other than his leadership in her speech.

Her selections surprised Clarke. The first was Indra, and the second was the leader of Ailonkru, a young man by the name of Beorn. The last member of the acting Conclave wasn’t needed because the remaining majority, Igor and Luna, approved her selections without hesitation. Each of the new appointees were given red sashes to attach to their armor, a much shorter version than the one Lexa wore on a regular basis.

A full complement in the Conclave would quell some of the unrest from the remaining clan leaders.

Igor was the first leader to make his exit from the ceremony. He didn’t recognize Clarke at first, but his dark eyes shone with amusement when he realized who he was looking at. Clarke offered him a friendly smile.

“Wanheda,” he greeted her with a bow of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you in Floudonkru. It seems as if my advice went unheeded.”

The last time she saw Igor, he’d walked away and told her to return to her people because a war was at hand. Now Clarke was caught in the middle of the action with an even bigger problem on her plate.

“I wasn’t ready to go back,” Clarke confessed.

Igor dropped his voice low, making it difficult to be overheard. “From what I hear, you are ready to go back now. Indra has asked me to join your travel party tonight.”

“That’s a relief.”

Igor nodded. “Indeed. It is always preferable to be in the company of friends at the end of the world, is it not?”

He slipped away when he saw Octavia approaching, quickly mingling with the other clan leaders in attendance.

Though many of them lived in different corners of the world, these people had known each other for years. Luna had been around some of the clan leaders since they were toddlers. She’d known of Lexa for about that long, Clarke remembered. She was starkly reminded of her own youth and inexperience.

“Luna says the horses are ready at the northwest sentry’s station. We’re supposed to start heading over as soon as possible,” Octavia told her. When Clarke didn’t respond straightaway, she knew something was amiss. “You okay?”

Clarke shrugged; she honestly didn’t know. Returning to see her people was something she’d dreaded doing for months because she didn’t know how she’d react when faced with the reminders of what she’d done.

“I guess I have to be,” she said.

Octavia watched her carefully, considering her words. “You know… I don’t think there’s ever going to be a point where you’ll feel _ready_ to go back. I know I’m not particularly looking forward to it, given the circumstances, but it’s out of our control. We have to do this, and you’re strong enough to handle it.”

There was a kind of pure, simple honesty in Octavia’s statement that Clarke rarely heard from her. Her eyes held a similar conviction, and it helped ease some of the tension spreading across Clarke’s shoulders.

“Let’s go,” Clarke said, more confidently than before.

“Good. By the way, Luna told me to pass along a message since she can’t come along. She wanted you to know that you weren’t under any circumstances allowed to shoot the Commander.” Octavia raised an eyebrow at her that was both curious and highly entertained. “You care to explain?”

Clarke took off and strode past her in an attempt to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Nope.”

Their horses were saddled, and the stable hands already prepared their belongings for the trip. By horseback, it was a two day ride from Floudonkru to the dropship. They would stop to make camp in Trikru territory a few hours outside of Tondc and continue their journey tomorrow.

In just two days’ time, Clarke would be speaking with the Ark. She’d known it, of course, but the sudden impact of the realization floored her.

One of the stable hands, an elderly man with tired and wrinkled hands, approached Clarke holding a pair of reins. The horse he led was already prepped and saddled with all of Clarke’s necessities.

“This is Raine,” he told her, guiding Clarke to take the ropes of the beautiful black mare at his side. “She is Luna’s preferred mount—very fast and very smart.” He tapped his index finger against his temple and smiled widely, showing off numerous missing teeth. “She is guaranteed to get you where you need to go.”

Clarke thanked him, and when she did, she swore the old man nearly fainted from happiness. She greeted Raine by stroking the side of her neck. She stopped when she heard another group arrive behind her and was shocked to see Pike and Niylah leading their small party of Arkers to join them. Luna had returned their weapons, and they were armed to the teeth. Niylah handed Clarke her own rifle with a grin.

“We were told there was some business that needed tendin’ to at the Ark,” Pike blustered, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “With the forests being unsafe as they are, Luna thought could use some good old fashioned fire power on your side.”

Pike grinned a mile wide for the first time in days, but Clarke knew Luna well enough to understand that was not her only motivation.

She didn’t want Pike around her village during Clarke’s absence, as she seemed to be one of the only ones he would listen to. He would’ve been a thorn in Luna’s side until Clarke returned, and that all depended on how long Raven needed to fix the computer.

Now that he felt included and not forgotten, there would be no difficulty from Pike. He accepted his horse gratefully, looking only slightly less awkward than Niylah did when he climbed into the saddle. Remy arrived with his unwilling prisoner, Murphy, yet this time his hands weren’t bound. He was the only one in the group who carried no weapon. Indra and Igor arrived from the ceremony ten minutes later and quickly mounted their horses. The only person missing was—

“Are you ready?” Lexa’s voice sounded from behind her, bringing her own horse next to Clarke’s—a shining brown mare with a patch of white daubed on its nose.

Clarke startled but recovered quickly. “We are.”

“We should leave quickly. The further we can travel tonight, the sooner we arrive.”

Lexa led the group out in front. If she was feeling any pain from her wound, she never once showed it. Indra flanked her right side, and Igor rode to her left. Like the Azgeda had done in the quarry, Lexa had their gunners stationed toward the side of their small formation. If they were attacked, the northern Arkers would provide their first line of defense. Thankfully, the forests remained quiet. They saw nothing threatening around them in the faint torchlight.

There was an undercurrent of tension among the group. Murphy tried cracking a few jokes with Clarke and Octavia, but neither of them laughed. Their mission weighed heavily on their minds. The further they traveled from the protective haven of Floudonkru, the more taciturn they became.

The Maunon and the Sky People were no longer the only threats they had to worry about. Now there were enemy grounders to contend with—people who were as equally trained in the art of stealth and warfare. Everyone kept their eyes open and their heads on swivels.

Five hours they rode, nearing a point colloquially referred to as _Wadadaun_. The steady thrum of a waterfall by their campsite explained the name well enough. It had been a rendezvous point for southern travelers for decades.

The waterfall and slick rocks at its crest formed a barrier that was difficult to cross in an attack—one less side they had to guard while they slept. Those not assigned to the watch would sleep in the open air fully clothed with furs to keep themselves warm. Clarke already missed the warmer air from ocean front. Raine had been keeping her warm for the past few hours, so she laid her furs down as close as she could to one of their small campfires. Octavia chose a section of earth next to her, and to Clarke’s great displeasure, Murphy arrived at her other side. She glared at him before stealing one of the liquor bottles from his bag.

It had to have been just after midnight. Everyone who was allowed fell asleep quickly—like rest was some sort of obligation—yet Clarke didn’t find sleep so easily. She tossed and turned, anxious about the situation she was in and the uncertainty surrounding her return to camp. She eventually gave up and sat upright by the fire with her furs pooled in her lap.

After some struggle, she willed the cap off of the vodka bottle and took a long draught. It went down smoothly leaving a pleasant burn at the back of her throat.

 _Infinitely better than moonshine_ , Clarke thought idly. A few more sips did wonders to calm her nerves… at least until a soft rustling came from behind her. Clarke didn’t have to turn around to recognize the careful footsteps.

Lexa sat next to her without invitation, careful not to wake Octavia at her other side. Clarke tilted the bottle against her lips and took another large pull.

“You’re not on watch. You should be resting,” Lexa said gently. “We will be traveling for eighteen hours tomorrow.”

“Can’t sleep,” Clarke avoided looking at her, “but I could say the same for you.”

“After the battle, I slept for the better part of a week; that was quite enough.”

“Fair enough,” Clarke sighed. “Just do me a favor.”

“What is it?” Lexa asked, a little too eagerly.

Clarke let the bottle hang in one hand, and she finally turned to look at Lexa. In the hazy glow of the campfire, the shadows accenting Lexa’s warpaint reminded her too much of the _last night_ , when Lexa turned her back on Clarke and left. The alcohol’s calming effects did little to dull the sting from that particular memory.

“Just stop _pretending_ like you care.” There was little anger left in Clarke’s voice. The underlying hurt she’d been trying so valiantly to hide was fully exposed.

“I’ve told you before. I _do_ care, Clarke,” Lexa reminded her.

Clarke shook her head. “If you did, you wouldn’t have left me there alone.”

“You were perfectly capable of protecting your people without my help.”

“But I shouldn’t have needed to,” Clarke said. “We had an agreement, and you broke it. You broke everything.”

Lexa moved her hand toward Clarke but halted her movement in midair, realizing that would only make matter worse in Clarke’s eyes. Lexa balled her fists at her side to resist the urge to physically touch her.

“I won’t apologize for what I’ve done, Clarke,” she said softly. “I did what I needed to do to protect my people, as you did for yours. Neither of us could control the circumstances that forced our hands.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to forgive you for it.”

Lexa accepted the comment with a single nod of her head, staring into the fire’s embers. “Since I’ve been Commander, ten thousand have been killed on my order. As leaders, we can’t avoid it—suffering is the strange fuel that feeds our civilization. I’m not sure any of us _deserves_ the gift of forgiveness after everything we’ve done.”

“At least you recognize that,” Clarke said, her tone seeped with bitterness.

Lexa gingerly pushed herself to her feet, careful to avoid any extreme movements that might pull at her healing wound. She didn’t leave immediately, staring wistfully back at Clarke, who seemed determined to ignore her.

“Considering the alternatives that could have transpired that night, I admit that enduring your anger is a pleasure I didn’t think I would enjoy again.”

The bizarre statement momentarily shut down Clarke’s steel clad defenses. “Why…?” she trailed off, utterly confused.

“Because it means that at least you’re _alive_ to hate me.” Lexa started to leave, stopping just behind Clarke with a somber expression. “I won’t apologize for saving my people, but I never wanted to cause you pain. It’s obvious that my continued presence is not easy for you. I will make myself scarce if it will make you more comfortable.”

There was an unspoken question in Lexa’s words—Clarke could either accept the offer or refuse it if she wanted to.

Clarke nodded, not trusting her own voice, and from behind her, Lexa’s face fell. She uttered a quick goodnight, and the footsteps from her retreat faded into nothing.

Clarke was left alone once again. She recapped the bottle in her hand, tucked herself in beneath her furs, and tried to go to sleep. It was some time before she did, and about half an hour before sunrise, Clarke awoke from a dream with tight muscles and her heart beating wildly in her chest. Only this time, her dreams weren’t plagued by visions of the dead.

It was Lexa.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The closer the group drew to the dropship, the less Octavia spoke. She loved and missed Bellamy, Clarke could tell, but she was too hurt by what her brother was doing to look forward to hearing from him at the moment. Under Remy’s watchful eye, Murphy was also unusually quiet. Her friends from station thirteen were manning the edge of their formation, and Lexa had kept true to her word and did not approach Clarke at all during the day.

The closest they’d been in proximity to one another was when Clarke first went to fill her canteen from the waterfall. Lexa saw her coming and mounted her horse as quickly as she could, wincing slightly as she did. Lexa trotted her horse off and had been leading the group ever since.

It was technically a diplomatic mission, but for Clarke, it started to feel more like a funeral procession. When they reached Tondc, it only got worse. The missile’s destruction was still obvious, even three months later. The riders took a break to feed and water the horses, and they all warmed themselves inside and rested their legs for the rest of the journey.

Clarke fed Raine several handfuls of grain and stayed outside, sitting alone on one of the rubble piles.

At least, she thought she was alone.

“In all my years, I have never seen a warrior so reluctant to return home to their people,” Igor mused from behind her. He perched himself next to her, quite content to remain outside. Compared to Hongedakru, Clarke supposed the weather seemed almost balmy even though it was nearly freezing. “Not even five hundred Azgeda soldiers could persuade you to return to your camp.”

“Maybe another five hundred would do the trick,” Clarke quipped with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I would round some up for you if anyone knew where they were. After their clans retreated from Polis, the rebels have been laying low.”

“Planning their next move?” Clarke asked.

“Perhaps. As much forethought as they have put into their previous attacks, I would imagine they have very little left to plan. The forests have been far too quiet recently.”

“You don’t worry that they’ll try to hit your clans while you and and the other leaders are gone?”

“They will not be attacking Hongeda anytime soon.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’ve already met one of the reasons why,” Igor answered with a smirk. “Believe me when I say there are far more frightening beasts with far bigger appetites. Attacking Hongeda would be very risky with little reward. Our clan is isolated in the north.”

In fact, each of the territories the rebels claimed seemed to have been chosen to cut the strongest northern clans off from each other. The easiest paths between them were now the most dangerous.

“Do you think they would be this far south?” Clarke asked. Floudonkru was thus far unaffected, but she wondered how long that could realistically last.

“Let me put it this way: if the rebels wanted to occupy a southern clan’s territory, which would do the most damage to the alliance?”

Clarke tried to picture the maps Luna taught her. Graunakru and Floudonkru sat near the ocean. Trigedakru served as their connection to the capital, but they were probably the strongest allies left in the coalition. Not to mention, they’d been riding through the territory for hours and had yet to see a sign of any rebels.

Staungedakru and Desakru sat further west. There was an expansive void in the middle of the four where—

Clarke’s heart sank with a dawning realization. “Skaikru,” she whispered.

Igor nodded appreciatively at her reasoning, but Clarke didn’t need his approval to know that the two camps at Mount Weather and Camp Jaha posed the most attractive targets. She’d heard enough mumblings from her own people on the march back from Mount Weather to know they wouldn’t hesitate to turn on the grounder clans who betrayed them, and after their missile attack, the rest of the world knew it too.

Their already simmering hostility toward the alliance made them ideal recruits. Skaikru was in the middle of the alliance’s stronghold in the south and could shoot missiles a hundred fifty miles in any direction.

Clarke only hoped the rebels hadn’t reached them yet. She had to warn them—Bellamy, Kane, her mom.

She hardly thought of anything else for the rest of the ride. The others started to notice Clarke’s forlornness, but they said nothing. Not even Lexa’s furtive glances over her shoulder bothered her while they finished their ride.

“Home sweet home,” Octavia muttered darkly.

The haggard fence around the old dropship stood before them, looking considerably worse for wear. Parts of it were tearing apart, and others were falling cleanly off. Their earliest handiwork hadn’t even endured a full year.

“Let’s go,” Clarke said. She dismounted her horse, tying her reins to one of the stray fence posts. Octavia followed her, then the northern Arkers shortly after.

For Octavia and Clarke, it had been home, for a time. Now the place felt foreign to them. For Pike and the others, the dropship probably felt something like nostalgia.

There were more than a few horrified gasps when the the newest grounders saw the graveyard for their fallen comrades. Weeds and moss started to reclaim the burned bodies, but their skeletons and weapons were still identifiable. Clarke was numb to it by now. She marched up to the dropship and lowered the ramp, heading inside. The sun would going down soon, and they needed to make it back to Tondc before nightfall.

“Can you get me on the radio with Mount Weather?” Clarke asked Octavia. She’d been there at the very beginning, before Bellamy’s war campaign started, and knew how they operated.

Octavia nodded. “Give me a sec.”

The others crowded into the corridor around them, watching with anticipation. Lexa and the clan leaders squeezed their way to the front. Octavia tinkered with the radio for several minutes while nothing but the sound of static filled the metal room. After a few turns of the dial, the noise cleared, and she stepped away from the table.

“It’s ready,” she said, gesturing to the receiver.

Clarke’s legs grew weak and started trembling from nervousness. She sat down quickly, and took several deep breaths to calm herself. When she was confident that she could speak without losing her tenuous hold on her control, she pressed the transmission button. A tiny red light blinked, indicating the connection was live.

Her pulse picked up instantly.

“This is Clarke Griffin, calling for any available member of the Ark,” she announced into the void.

Everyone waited, and no answer came. Clarke tried a second time.

Nothing.

The entire room grew tense, but the two people who were most on edge were Clarke and Murphy. Clarke feared what may ultimately happen to her people back at camp if she couldn’t warn them on time, and Murphy was afraid that without evidence to corroborate his story, he would be severely punished. He hadn’t forgotten the last beating he’d endured by the grounders’ hands.

Clarke glanced uneasily toward Octavia. “This is Clarke Griffin, calling for—”

A loud crashing noise blasted from the speakers during Clarke’s third call, making every one of the spectators flinch in surprise. There a few more scuffling noises, indicating whoever had picked up on the other side had knocked their receiver to the floor. A few garbled curses later, a clear response sounded on the other side.

“Clarke?!” came the overly excitable reply. Clarke recognized the voice and instantly found relief.

“Monty, yeah it’s me,” she answered allowing herself a tiny smile.

“You’re alive. Everyone—” he hesitated for a moment, “—everyone thought you’d died.”

“No I’m very much alive. I’m trying to get in touch with Raven, and it’s urgent. Is she around?”

“No, she’s back at Camp Jaha. You’re talking to the Mount Weather command center.”

Clarke figured as much just from Octavia’s account. She hadn’t realized Monty was part of Bellamy’s camp. The three of them acted together to irradiate the mountain, so after Clarke’s departure, she supposed it would only be natural for Monty and Bellamy to stick together. It just hurt to envision Monty as the aggressor in their war against the grounders. Clarke didn’t need to ask to know _he_ _’d_ been the one to push the button to fire the missile, even if it had been Bellamy’s order.

“Can you patch me through?” Clarke asked.

Monty’s answering silence unnerved her. “I have to ask first,” he said apologetically. “Hold on for a second, Clarke.”

The line went dead for one minute, which turned into five, and later ten. The grounders, and even Clarke for that matter, started to get restless the longer they were kept waiting. Was Clarke being blown off? Bellamy was in charge at the mountain—was he preventing Monty from putting Clarke in contact with the Ark?

It was about fifteen minutes before anyone spoke on the radio again.

“This is Bellamy.” His tone was filled with an uncharacteristic coolness.

Clarke hadn’t expected to hear from Bellamy directly. She expected Monty to return with an answer from him, and hearing his voice after so long tempered the reality of what he’d done. He _sounded_ like the same Bellamy she knew, regardless of the stories she’d heard since then.

“It’s good to hear your voice again,” Clarke admitted.

“Look, we’re all busy here, Clarke. Three months is a long time to wait for a little chat,” he said in a clipped tone. “What in the hell do you want?”

Octavia stiffened, looking like she had to physically restrain herself from taking the receiver from Clarke and shouting into it herself.

Clarke frowned, taken aback by the rude response. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have one… but apparently you do. And now that you’ve had your little winter vacation, you all of a sudden want our help, is that right?”

“This isn’t a social call, Bellamy,” Clarke snapped back at him. His petulance was grating on her nerves, especially as there were much bigger threats against them now. “If you won’t let me talk to her now, I’m letting you, Monty, and everyone else listening in right now that with or without permission, I will be coming to Camp Jaha. If you still decide to attack, you can live with that on your conscious the rest of your lives. Though I expect once my mom found out, she’d kill you herself.”

Bellamy considered her words for a moment, wondering if Clarke was bluffing. She wasn’t, and Bellamy seemed to come to the same realization on his own.

“What do you need from Raven?” he asked.

Had he not been so unabashedly rude minutes before, Clarke would have probably told him everything. But she’d lost some of the blind faith she used to have in him. “That’s none of your business.”

A tense standoff followed. Bellamy dared her to continue, and Clarke refused elaborate further. She half-expected him to deny her request to call the Ark, but to her surprise, he didn’t—though he wasn’t any kinder afterward.

“Fine, I’ll have Monty put you through.”

“One more thing,” Clarke added before he disappeared from the line.

“What is it?” He asked tersely.

Clarke took a deep breath. “I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with what’s been happening outside of camp. The alliance is broken, Bellamy. There’s a civil war going on all around you.”

“And you called to warn us. How considerate of you.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Clarke insisted. “The Ice Nation has been at the center of it, and nobody seems to know what they’re planning for their next move. They’re dangerous, Bellamy. You may be pissed at me, but don’t let them drag Camp Jaha into this.”

He said nothing. Time seemed to stretch on forever while she waited for a response. “Bellamy?” Clarke asked. “Did you hear me? I said—”

“I heard you,” Bellamy cut her off. “Consider us warned. We’re all good here.”

“They’re probably—”

“I said we’re good, Clarke,” Bellamy repeated more harshly. “Monty is going to put you through to the Ark.”

The signal went quiet again while Monty worked on the transmission to Camp Jaha. Clarke doubted Raven would be sitting by a communications area—the girl was often busy working on one of her many projects around camp—so it would be some time before they were connected. Some light whispering broke out from behind Clarke while they waited.

All of it was in the grounder’s sleng, and none of it was favorable towards Bellamy. Clarke honestly couldn’t even bring herself to defend him. She glanced toward Octavia standing next to her again. She definitely needed to hit something (and would probably picture it as her brother’s face). Clarke grasped her forearm gently.

 _Are you okay?_ she asked wordlessly with her eyes.

Octavia nodded. She didn’t stick around much longer though. She excused herself from the dropship and went to the field outside—probably off to find some catharsis with her fists and her feet.

Everyone else continued to wait inside; Clarke lost track of time while they did. The reply, when it arrived, was sudden and unexpected.

“My God, Clarke—you’re alive!” Raven’s voice sounded happily over the radio. She seemed genuinely pleased to be speaking with her, unlike Bellamy had sounded before.

Clarke smiled widely. She could picture Raven’s enthusiastic expression vividly in her mind, and it warmed her from the inside. “I am.”

“Your mom is going to lose it when she hears that I talked to you.”

“I’m sure she will,” Clarke admitted. She was both excited and a little worried to face her mother’s reaction. Clarke hadn’t told her she was leaving, and it sounded as if her death had been a popular rumor back home. “I guess I’ll find out when I see her.”

“Wait—you’re coming back?!” Raven asked, as if this was the best news she’d heard all day.

“Looks like it. I’ve got some questions for you.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. What’s the topic?”

“Bombs and computers,” Clarke answered.

“Two of my favorites,” Raven said appreciatively. “You know me too well. What’s up with the computer?”

“We’ve got an old laptop that looks like it may have had some water damage. I was hoping you could tell us what was on it.”

Raven considered this for a moment. “If the disks inside the hard drives themselves weren’t bent or corroded, it shouldn’t be too hard, but I’ll need to take them apart.”

“You can do whatever you need to.”

“What about the bomb?” Raven asked. “What are you dealing with?”

“It’s…” Clarke hesitated, “… of the nuclear variety.”

Clarke could practically hear the penny drop in Raven’s mind. When she spoke again, her voice was far more urgent than before.

“Who in the hell do you know that has a nuclear bomb?” Raven asked in disbelief.

“I’m not sure,” Clarke admitted. “That computer was apparently close by. I’m hoping that we can find some answers from what you recover from the hard drive.”

Raven understood. “Okay. Well, if there’s really a nuclear threat, we need to deal with it as soon as possible. When can you make it to Camp Jaha?”

Clarke looked toward Lexa. “Five days?” She was asking Lexa just as much as Raven. One nodded her assent, and the other gave it via radio.

“I’ll let Kane know you’re coming. You won’t run into any trouble getting through to the gate.”

“Thanks, Raven.”

“Oh, and Clarke?” Raven said.

“Yeah?”

“There were rumors, you know. Three months is a long time… I’m just…” She trailed off, getting lost in some memory. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

 


	7. A Broken Home

Luna allowed Clarke to ride Raine on the return journey to Camp Jaha. Clarke had grown quite accustomed to Luna’s favorite horse, and Raine had become uncharacteristically friendly toward her as well. Every time Clarke dismounted, Raine playfully nuzzled her shoulder with her nose. Luna’s other mount was bigger and faster, but it was also exceedingly temperamental and would have been nearly impossible for a lesser rider to handle.

For the return trip to Camp Jaha, a considerably larger guard accompanied Clarke. After the tense conversation with Mount Weather, nobody was confident they wouldn’t face an attack from Skaikru. Not even Clarke or Octavia.

“How long will it take your friend to make the repairs?” Luna asked Clarke, pulling her horse up to trot beside her.

Once Clarke returned to Floudonkru, there’d only been enough time to take a breather before they had to reassemble a more sizable group to travel to Camp Jaha. This felt like the first time in days Clarke had a moment to speak with Luna uninterrupted.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “Anywhere from a day to a week. Why?”

“None of our clan members feel safe with the idea of staying in the Sky People camp. We plan on making camp away from the entrance and need to start making provisions for food if this is going to take longer than a couple of days. There are many hungry mouths to feed.”

Clarke took a quick glance around her. There were around a hundred armed riders—the group that rode with her to the dropship plus the other coalition leaders and their respective generals. After their briefing, all decided that this was a matter of utmost importance and would see to it that the threat was properly taken care of.

“I’ll be sure to ask Raven for an estimate,” Clarke promised.

“I would appreciate that.”

They rode in silence for a long while. The forest felt thinner than Clarke remembered them, many of the trees losing nearly all their leaves. Luna made a point of continuing to ride at her side, which made Clarke feel as if she wasn’t quite finished with the conversation.

“As another point of interest,” Luna asked too innocently, “if this does turn into a prolonged mission, where do you plan on staying?”

 _With us or with them?_ Clarke finished the unasked question in her mind, and she faltered.

The thought hadn’t initially crossed her mind. The thought of sleeping inside the Ark’s walls again was daunting, allowing herself to be so completely surrounded and consumed by everything she’d been running so desperately from for the past few months, but staying at the grounder camp while her mom and her friends were anxiously awaiting her return seemed cruel.

“It is your decision, Clarke,” Luna assured her. “Nobody here has the right to pass judgment.”

Clarke looked at her skeptically. “So if I stayed at Camp Jaha, everyone here would be fine with it?”

“They would understand your decision.”

That wasn’t exactly the same thing, which they both knew. Clarke couldn’t answer her question right away. She rode quietly next to Luna, neither of them having anything else to add to the conversation. The atmosphere grew too tense for casual niceties the closer they came to camp.

From the front, Lexa stopped her horse along the edge of the tree line. Those who followed closely behind her fanned out by her side—Indra, Igor, Beorn, and Tobias. Though the forest looked different this time of year, Clarke knew where they stood and what they were looking at. She swallowed nervously.

“Looks like we’re here,” Octavia said in a small voice behind her. She walked her horse up to Clarke’s other side with practiced calmness.

They crested the incline and pulled to a stop in line with the others. Clarke gazed upon the Ark for the first time in months, and she was surprised that the sight of it engendered no new rush of emotion. It no longer made her feel happiness, relief, fear, or disgust. Clarke only felt the underlying nervousness of their dire situation.

“They’ve been busy,” Clarke mused.

Just outside the Ark’s entrance stood newly built wells and plots of plowed earth where they’d presumably had a recent harvest. Even the electrified fence had been fortified with denser wires so that no foe could slip through. The days of sneaking in and out of Camp Jaha were over.

“You should take the lead,” Lexa said. “They are your people. They will be looking for you.”

Clarke nodded, understanding. Despite Skaikru’s lack of hostility, the gunners stationed at the gate might impulsively shoot if they believed that Clarke’s radio message was intended to stage a coup for the grounders. Under duress, they tended to shoot first, ask questions later. They’d done so when they killed Anya. The Ark needed to know without a doubt that it was Clarke who was approaching. She pulled back the hood to her cloak and let the braids in her blonde hair flow freely behind her.

“Let’s go.” Clarke steadied the rifle strapped across her back and kicked at Raine’s flanks, sending her into a trot.

Octavia and Murphy rode beside her as the only other people from Camp Jaha in their party.  Behind them, a formidable showing of the alliance’s upper echelon spread behind her, interspersed with Pike’s armed crew from station thirteen. In the open field surrounding the camp, she pushed their pace. Raine eased into a gallop, and Clarke pushed herself off the saddle to accommodate the new pace.

The guards watched their approach closely. She’d kept her word, though the guards kept their weapons drawn. When the riders grew close enough to pick Clarke’s blonde hair from the crowd, one of Camp Jaha’s guards jumped excitedly.

“Clarke!” he shouted at her approach—Sinclair, from the sound of it. He waved one hand wildly in the air. The others had a more tempered reaction.

He was still full of smiles when Clarke finally slowed her horse at the entrance. He took in her new appearance, and when a hundred others—mostly grounders—gathered behind her, Sinclair’s bright spirits dampened considerably. The reaction irked Clarke for reasons she couldn’t articulate. She dismounted smoothly, walking up to the steel gates and holding her chin high in the air.

“Kane knows I’m coming,” Clarke told him. “We need to speak with Raven. It’s urgent.”

Sinclair eyed the group behind her skeptically, not mentioning his reasons, but Clarke was aware enough to make her own deductions. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea… under the circumstances.”

“Sinclair, open the gate now.”

“Clarke—”

“I said _now._ ” Unseen behind her, Indra smirked.

Sinclair considered her order for a moment, glancing uncertainly between his comrades. He finally relented, unlocking the electronic gate and swinging it open. He held up an open palm before anyone entered, signaling for them to stop.

“I’m going to get Kane. Stay here,” he said, almost pleading. He turned to the others under his command. “Watch them while I’m gone. I’ll be right back,” he said before disappeared inside the Ark.

There were only about fifteen other guards, and Clarke recognized all of them, though she only remembered a couple of names. Their reception was considerably less warm than Sinclair’s had been; they didn’t greet Clarke and watched her warily like she was an unbalanced enemy that might have struck if they looked away. Each of them carried a gun, but against a hundred heavily armed warriors, they would barely even slow down Clarke’s companions if they decided to storm the entrance. But Clarke had no interest in fighting. There were more important matters on her mind.

Lexa barked a quick order behind her, and the others started to dismount. Undeterred by her earlier promise to keep her distance, Lexa led her horse forward and came to stand beside Clarke, who felt her presence like a surge of electricity.

“Something isn’t right,” Lexa noted lowly, watching the activities behind the gate with keen eyes.

“You can’t blame Sinclair for being cautious. It’s not like I warned them I’d be bringing a small army with me,” Clarke reasoned. They didn’t look at each other.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what _are_ you talking about?”

With the gate standing wide open, Lexa absorbed every inch of their surroundings: the small work fires burning at intervals inside the fence, the piles of newly assembled weapons sitting in piles by the Ark’s walls, the saddles resting on wooden posts…

Clarke froze. Since they’d been on the ground, the Sky People never owned horses.

The only ones they had at their disposal belonged to the grounders, and that alliance had withered the night the mountain fell. Lexa was right—something was off, and it made Clarke uneasy. As soon as she noticed the first anomaly, it became easier for her to spot others. A set of armor lying around that she didn’t recognize. Strangers wearing strange clothing.

Her attention wavered when the Ark’s entrance stirred. Kane emerged through the throng of people, looking far different than Clarke had ever seen him. His face was covered with a graying beard, and his eyes were exhausted. The past three months had taken its toll on him, but his expression brightened when he spotted Clarke.

Not long after Kane exited the Ark, Bellamy appeared following closely behind him. He held the hand of another girl who Clarke didn’t immediately recognize.

Until she did. Her face didn’t spark any memories, but the white furs draped around her shoulders did. Clarke could only remember the quarry, the warriors she’d shot wearing the very same furs...

When Lexa spotted her, her expression turned thunderous, her neck muscles flexing and her hands balling tightly into fists.

Octavia was horrified. “Is that…?” She trailed off, unable to voice the thought aloud.

“Yeah,” Clarke said. _Azgedakru._

Bellamy had no smile to spare them as he approached, eying his sister then Clarke in quick succession. He followed Kane wordlessly while Clarke glared at him.

Three more grounders Clarke didn’t immediately recognize exited after Bellamy. They carried themselves with prominence, so Clarke figured them to be leaders of some kind. One wore the white furs Clarke had come to associate with the Ice Nation, and the others were completely foreign to her.

 Despite Lexa’s practiced coolness, their appearance tested the bounds of her seemingly limitless restraint. She was wound tightly enough to snap at any moment.

“Lexa, who _is_ that?” Clarke whispered, already dreading hearing the answer she expected to follow.

Her answer came through gritted teeth. “The queen of Azgedakru.”

Clarke’s heart sank. She had held out hope that her nagging suspicions had been wrong, that Skaikru wasn’t the next target for the civil war. It not only posed a needless threat to Camp Jaha, but it would interfere with addressing the potentially larger threat against everyone. Could they really expect a productive dialogue if the two sides couldn’t stand to be within a hundred feet of each other?

Had Kane actually agreed to this? As Clarke watched him, she wasn’t convinced he was altogether pleased with the current situation. Maybe they were still in the discussion phase. Bellamy was the only one who looked smug at their predicament; he never let go of the young woman’s hand at his side.

“It’s good to see you Clarke. You were sorely missed,” Kane greeted with a smile. The group he led stopped just behind the open entrance, like an invisible forcefield separated the two sides. He glanced cautiously toward Lexa and nodded his head. “Commander.”

Lexa’s acknowledging nod was barely perceptible. She was still the epitome of restraint, and Clarke wondered how long she would be able to keep her barely concealed fury at bay.

“Where’s Raven?”  Clarke asked. “What’s going on?”

“Raven’s in medical. She knows you’re here, and she’s on her way,” Kane placated her. He stepped aside, allowing their camp’s visitors to step forward. They all watched Clarke with rapt attention, not sparing many glances toward other members of her group. “These are our visitors. Titus from Maungedakru…” He gestured to the bald man next to him with a strong jaw and brow. “Knox from Rifgedakru…” Then a short, stocky man with most of his face covered by a bushy brown beard. “And Nia of Azgedakru.” The older Ice Nation queen inspected Clarke’s appearance closely.

In any normal social situation, there would’ve been polite greetings exchanged by both sides after the introductions. Almost everyone except Clarke and her friends were well acquainted with Camp Jaha’s guests, but Clarke had heard enough their actions to formulate her own opinions about them. They all stood stiffly and maintained the bitter standoff.

She never trusted them before, and now she trusted them even less.

“They’ve come to discuss a plan for another alliance. Negotiations are still ongoing,” Kane explained, sounding uncertain. He was in charge at Camp Jaha, but his tone confirmed Clarke’s nagging suspicion: this was not his idea.

She glared at the only other person who could have arranged the meeting—Bellamy. He stared back at her with defiant eyes, daring her to object publicly. Clarke nearly did, but she was interrupted.

“So this is the elusive _Wanheda_ ,” Nia said, almost in a taunt. She stepped forward to inspect Clarke more closely and halted directly front of her, staring at Clarke down the length of her nose. “Even hundreds of miles away, I’ve heard rumors of your greatness. Although I must admit, to hear the stories, I imagined that someone befitting your title would be much taller.”

The comment bothered Lexa more than it did Clarke, and her forearms twitched as she struggled not to physically retaliate. Nia eyed her from the corners of her vision and indulged herself a smirk. Clarke didn’t take the bait, much to Nia’s disappointment. So she moved onto her next target, sidling toward Lexa, who looked like she was ready to throw punches if necessary.

“My brother tells me you had quite the scare recently with your physical health. What a terrible misfortune that was,” Nia said, not sounding like the information bothered her at all. More nuanced ears could detect an undercurrent of mirth in her tone.

Lexa glared daggers at her. Only a select few within the alliance knew of her injury, which was still recent enough to incapacitate her. Many of them looked around in confusion.

“The gossip you’ve heard has been vastly overstated,” Lexa lied.

Nia narrowed her eyes. “So it would appear.”

Neither of them blinked.

The hatred passed between Lexa and Nia was obvious, and the air seemed to crackle from the energy the two exuded. Lexa rested one hand on the hilt of her sword at her waist, and Nia’s were hidden beneath her white fur cloak, doubtlessly holding a weapon of her own. Nobody dared interrupt them for fear of inciting a riot at the gate. Not Kane, not Clarke, not Luna, not Titus or Knox… They were the two faces of the grounders’ civil war, staring each other down like they could conquer the other with their eyes.

Everyone was too preoccupied with them to notice that Abby Griffin had arrived dashing from the Ark’s medical bay. As soon as Raven got notification of Clarke’s return in medical, Abby dropped her work on the floor and came running down the entrance tunnel, knocking anyone aside that stood in her way.

Her eyes scoured every corner of the ground outside and settled on the gates where a sizable crowd was gathered. Abby thought she caught a glimpse of blonde hair, but she couldn’t see clearly through the broad backs of the guards and the grounders standing in her way.

“Clarke?!” Abby shouted.

Clarke’s head snapped up at the familiar sound of her mother’s voice. The disturbance grabbed the attention of others, and soon they were all looking for the source.

Clarke searched in the direction of the noise, peeking through the group assembled at the gate. When her eyes finally met her mother’s through the crowd, Clarke stood absolutely still. Her mother’s face was filled with some unfathomable emotion. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or relief, and she hesitated to move closer, especially with hostile guards standing in her way.

About five seconds passed before Abby took off at a sprint toward her daughter. She didn’t slow down and didn’t stop to apologize to anyone she bumped or pushed from her path. She slammed into Knox’s and Titus’s shoulders, knocking them aside before throwing her arms around Clarke and pulling her into the tightest hug imaginable. Clarke either forgot to breathe or physically couldn’t—she wasn’t sure which. Clarke’s arms found their way around her mother’s neck, and she squeezed her in return.

Abby stroked her hair and whispered into Clarke’s ear. The overwhelming feelings, the likes of which she hadn’t experienced in the three months since her departure, were too much too bear. She’d forgotten what that sort of comforting human contact felt like. Clarke’s eyes burned, and when she clenched them shut into her mother’s hair, a traitorous set of tears fell unbidden from her eyes.

Clarke wasn’t sure how long the embrace lasted. It didn’t feel like very long before Abby pulled away, keeping her hands firmly attached to Clarke’s shoulders so she couldn’t disappear again. She made no comments about the war paint beneath Clarke’s eyes, nor the company she was keeping. Abby didn’t care anymore. She wiped the wetness away from Clarke’s eyes quickly before dabbing at her own.

Clarke wanted to say so much, but the words that came to her mind—the apologies, the promises, the assurances—hardly seemed adequate.

“I missed you,” was all Clarke could muster.

Abby smiled widely. “I missed you too.”

Another familiar figure caught Clarke’s eye from behind her mom. Raven approached hesitantly, far more unsteady with her gait than she was the last time Clarke had seen her. She wore a sturdier brace on her left leg and practically dragged it behind her. Her spirits couldn’t be dampened though; she grinned cheekily at Clarke.

“About damn time you showed up,” Raven quipped. “It’s good to see my two favorite people again…” she eyed Octavia before adding as an afterthought, “… and Murphy.”

Clarke was equally as happy to see Raven. Other than her mom, nobody else seemed that excited about Clarke’s return. Bellamy still purposefully avoided looking at her, and a growing crowd of curious spectators were gathering closer to investigate the source of excitement at the gates.

It was a crowd that was surprisingly unfriendly, and Clarke didn’t need to have anyone making a scene at the gates. Luna was already whispering into Octavia’s ear, no doubt making contingency plans in case the situation escalated.

“Can we speak in private?” Clarke asked, glancing toward both Raven and Kane. “Now?”

Kane glanced uneasily toward his guests. Clarke could already tell from their severe expressions that they wouldn’t be thrilled about inviting Lexa’s entourage inside Camp Jaha. Clarke wasn’t sure if the rest of the Sky People would tolerate their presence either.

She pulled the backpack off of Murphy’s shoulder onto her own, motioning for Octavia to join her. She didn’t trust Murphy not to make an escape attempt or betray them once he was left unsupervised. Remy would continue to keep him on lockdown.

Titus, Knox, and Nia made a move to follow them, but Kane smartly waved them off. “Clarke is one of us—Octavia too.” he told them. “Give us a few minutes alone. We’ll resume negotiations later.”

They reluctantly agreed.

Abby threw one arm around Clarke’s shoulders, not allowing for any separation so soon after their reunion, and Clarke didn’t mind her closeness. Her mother was a comforting presence, which she needed as Kane led them through the Ark’s entrance tunnel. Bellamy finally extricated himself from the Ice Nation girl at his side and followed them, much to Octavia’s (and even Clarke’s) displeasure. Raven struggled to keep up and lagged behind the others despite the fact that they moved at a slower pace to accommodate her.

The corridors, which once felt like home—had literally _been_ home for most of Clarke’s life—now felt cold, lifeless, and strange. The metal hallways seemed narrower and more confining, and Clarke found that she now preferred the vast openness of the outdoors.

Kane stopped at one of the identical steel doors lining the hallway. Clarke had forgotten what was behind it, but when he twisted the key inside the door and pushed it open, it appeared to be Kane’s personal pod. Several of his personal effects were strewn about the windowless room. He invited everyone in their group to have a seat around the comically small table in the center, and even after spare chairs were pulled up, there was barely enough space for everyone. Bellamy sidled up between Kane and Abby because neither Octavia nor Clarke wanted to sit anywhere near him.

Nobody wanted to be responsible for breaking the tenuous calm in the room, but it was Kane who eventually spoke first.

“Nobody expected you to be gone as long as you were, Clarke.”

“It’s not like I expected it either,” Clarke confessed.

“We’re just glad to see you back… and safe.” Kane offered a sincere smile, looking to Octavia as well. “Both of you.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re _back_. We’re not planning on staying.”

Abby turned toward Clarke, her expression filled with alarm. She’d only just gotten Clarke back, only just had confirmation that Clarke wasn’t dead, as was the popular rumor at the Ark. The thought of losing Clarke again, and so soon, tormented her.

Kane wasn’t surprised to hear it, but Bellamy, on the other hand, could barely conceal his outrage.

“You could’ve died, Clarke,” Bellamy leveled at her. His voice was even despite the visible flexion of his neck muscles. If the sleeves of his jacket had been rolled up to expose his forearms, she probably would have seen them flexing to relieve some of his frustration. “ _Both_ of you could have died,” he added, irritation starting to slip in his voice.

“We’re not dead, Bellamy,” Clarke shot back.

“Clearly, they’re not,” Raven interrupted, gesturing to Clarke and Octavia, who were very much alive and breathing. Even thriving, one could argue. “Unless…” She paused for a beat as a sudden thought came to her. “Holy shit. Schrödinger’s Clarke.”

Octavia immediately covered her mouth with her hands, her shoulders shaking with rhythmic movements as she tried to conceal the laughter at her brother’s expense. It took Clarke a second before the comment clicked, and then her lips curled into an amused grin as well.

“That’s enough for now, Raven,” Kane said gently. He looked at Clarke curiously, knowing without being told that of the two runaways from Camp Jaha, it was Clarke who drove the bulk of their decisions. “Where have you been off to?”

Clarke shook her head. “Not before _we_ get some answers first.”

Raven didn’t seem surprised by Clarke’s ultimatum, but Kane, Bellamy and Abby certainly did.

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Kane allowed. Not that he had much of a choice.

Clarke started with the most obvious, most pressing question. “Why are the Ice Nation, the River Clan, and the Mountain Clan leaders inside Camp Jaha?”

“I invited them,” Bellamy said, a trace of pride mixed with his contemptuous tone. “They turned up near Mount Weather a week ago, looking to make a peace deal. They’ve been good on their word so far. We could use the allies, since our supply of them ran dry a few months ago.”

Clarke stared at him incredulously. Kane and Abby, not Bellamy Blake, were in charge of the Sky People camp—or at least had been when she left three months ago. Her mother looked away wistfully, and even Kane started to look uncomfortable once Clarke’s accusing stare finally turned on him.

“You have to understand, Clarke,” Kane pleaded with her.

“Well, obviously I don’t,” Clarke deadpanned before adding harshly, “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“Things around here—” Kane paused, his face contorting as he recalled the unpleasant memories, “—they weren’t pleasant after we returned from Mount Weather. After the way the alliance ended, most people were of the opinion that we were at higher risk of attack than we’d ever been. Our people were injured, we were short on supplies, and the grounders would have known it. We’d only been back a couple of days before we had a virus run through the camp—”

Clarke turned her attention to her mother seated next to her. The last time their camp fell victim to a sudden rash of illness, it had been used as a battle tactic, and Clarke had been among the victims of the blood fever. Although she knew nothing of a plan to siege Camp Jaha and no battle was waged, it didn’t mean the virus wasn’t intentionally planted there.

“It was hard to tell at first, but there didn’t seem to be foul play involved,” Abby assured her. “On the earth, there was a virus that spread during the winter. While our ancestors were on the Ark, all of our immune systems fell behind ninety-seven years. The symptoms were the same but more severe. It spread quickly, and it hit us hard.”

“We’d already sent a team to Mount Weather to gather their weapons and bury the dead, but it was only two days after the breakout that the virus caused its first death,” Kane said. “Medical supplies became another necessary resource. So Abby authorized another visit to Mount Weather to bring all of its medical supply stores back to camp.”

“But why are people _still_ there?” Clarke was adamant. “That shouldn’t have taken longer than a couple of days.”

Abby glanced away uneasily. Kane’s eyes flickered toward her, knowing the reason, but wondering if it was his place to tell.

“After I heard…” Abby trailed off, and Clarke was able to follow her thought without another word. _After I heard you died_ _…_ Clarke tried not to outwardly react to the pained look on her mom’s face as she continued: “I was no longer fit to do the job I was chosen to do. I resigned my position as acting chancellor and started working full time in the medical bay.”

Clarke never expected her mother to so readily hand over the reigns of leadership, no matter what adversities she’d faced. It was a testament to how much she cared for Clarke that the mere idea of her death affected her so profoundly. But there was a job that needed completing, and Clarke grew increasingly worried that it wasn’t being done in her mother’s stead.

In the uncertainty that followed her resignation, a perfect storm of fear gripped every corner of the Ark. Fear of retribution from the grounder alliance, fear of sickness, fear of starving during the unpredictable winter months, fear that they would keep living their lives in anticipation of another attack they could neither predict nor resist. Freeing themselves from the Mountain Men was supposed to be a liberation, but even in space, the people of Camp Jaha hardly ever felt so trapped inside the Ark.

As Bellamy so proudly explained, he’d offered them an alternative to their fear. He’d offered them a course of action: take back Mount Weather, and use it for their own protection.

Judging by the faces Kane pulled during Bellamy’s spiel, Clarke could tell he didn’t feel comfortable with it. But pitted against overwhelming support for Bellamy’s militarization, he’d simply let it happen, betraying his own convictions to to avoid potentially destabilizing the camp. It was as much Kane’s fault as it was Bellamy’s.

“So that’s the story then?” Clarke scowled at the two of them. “You felt scared, so you decided to fire a missile at the first grounders you saw after taking over the mountain?”

“The grounders turned on us. We had to protect ourselves so they wouldn’t send an entire army at us.”

“Lexa isn’t stupid, Bellamy,” Clarke rubbed at her temples to try and ease some of her growing frustration. “She doesn’t fight useless wars. There was no reason for her to send an army to Camp Jaha.”

“Because we all know you’re able to predict everything the Commander does, right? Did you also expect her to betray us three months ago, because I sure as hell didn’t.”

Clarke didn’t have a answer for him. Her jaw dropped, and she wondered when one of her best friends, her strongest comrade, had become so jaded. She hardly recognized him like this. Angry. Reactionary. Cold.

“And they weren’t the first grounders we saw, by the way,” Bellamy countered. “The reapers starting coming back, and they were hungry.”

Octavia hadn’t mentioned anything about the reapers, so Clarke was even more at a loss for words, but Octavia responded for her.

“Of course they started coming back, dumbass,” she spat. “They needed the red to survive, and Mount Weather was where they got it from. That wasn’t an attack, it was instinct.”

A sinking feeling settled deep in the pit of Clarke’s stomach. “What did you do to them?” she asked Bellamy, almost dreading his answer.

“Nothing!”

Clarke waited for an explanation, some sort of conditional statement, but he stayed silent. _Nothing_. She tried to work through his meaning, why doing _nothing_ had upset Octavia so much.

“What he _means_ ,” Octavia sneered, “is that he had his little posse drive the reapers away. The mountain had all the red in the world to get them through detox, and Bell wanted no part of it.” She glowered at her brother. “You saw what happened to Lincoln when he went cold turkey. You sentenced every single one of them to death.”

“They were Trikru!” Bellamy tried to defend himself. “The grounders took our alliance and stomped all over it. What were we supposed to supposed to when they came back around? Trikru are our enemies again.”

Octavia shook her head. “When you saw them, they weren’t Trikru. They were _victims_ , Bell. First, they were Mount Weather’s, and now they’re yours.”

Bellamy flinched at the accusation, but he was too resilient—or too stubborn—to have his convictions rattled so easily. Even Clarke could see that his reasoning was crude at best, and dangerous at worst. How many reapers got turned loose after the battle at Mount Weather? Dozens? _Hundreds_?

After three months, the ones who hadn’t died fighting each other likely succumbed to the fatal withdrawal. If Lincoln, the epitome of health, couldn’t survive it after only a short course of the drug, the others wouldn’t stand a chance. Not without medical help, help that Skaikru could have easily offered.

Most of them, if not all, were blood on Bellamy’s hands. After the missile, his were soaking in it, all the while the Arkers enjoyed the illusion of safety.

Clarke remembered the sting of the betrayal at the Mountain. Two months ago, she would have considered lashing out at anyone who reminded her of that night, what she’d done and what she’d lost. Time had since soothed the wound to an ache, but Bellamy was still reeling, and nobody close to him seemed ready to pull him back to reason.

“What is this really about, Bellamy?” Clarke asked. “If it was just about keeping everyone safe, you wouldn’t be entertaining the idea of putting Camp Jaha in the middle of a war you know nothing about.”

His answering tone was uncharacteristically petulant. “Says the people who have already gone running back to the same ones who turned their backs on you both in the first place.”

Bellamy had seen both Indra and Lexa in the guard formation, and he still didn’t think much of either after they deserted Clarke and her friends at the mountain. The relish in his voice was all wrong, and it bothered Clarke nearly as much as Octavia, who abruptly sprung to her feet, sending her chair skidding behind her.

“This has nothing to do with Indra,” Octavia railed.

“Then what _is_ it about?” Bellamy challenged.

“This is about _you_ , and how you’re letting everyone become so up themselves that they can’t see the shitstorm that’s waiting ten feet in front of them.”

Bellamy was seething after his sister’s accusation. “I seem to be the only one interested in keeping them safe! We were vulnerable after the mountain, and the alliance was dead. If the grounders decided to bring a war on us, we wouldn’t have been able to fight them off.”

Clarke opened her mouth to retaliate, but she was cut off.

“Not all of them agreed with breaking our deal in the first place, Clarke,” Kane agreed. “The leaders who came to visit us still want to keep an alliance with Skaikru. That would only benefit us in the long run.”

Clarke couldn’t believe the nonsense she was hearing—and from _Kane_ of all people. The same Kane who considered Lexa a visionary because she fought for peace at great personal risk to herself, was now pursuing an alliance among warlords. They might offer security in the short term, but it was all illusory.

“If that’s the story they’re selling to you, then they’re lying,” Clarke said. “They aren’t going to offer you protection. They’re going to drag you into the middle of civil war with them. One that they’ve already started.”

Bellamy balked at her, unable to think of adequate response yet unwilling to entertain the possibility he was wrong. Octavia watched his confused expressions carefully, her anger fading slightly but not completely vanishing.

Octavia said with a tinge of sadness: “We’ve all fucked up in the name of war, but this isn’t about war anymore—not to you. I love you, Bell… but I’m not gonna just stand by and watch you get people I care about killed. Because that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if you—all of you—” she amended, glancing at Kane too, “—keep going with this.”

“I’ve gotta keep them safe, O,” Bellamy’s response was pained, and he too glanced at Kane. “We both do. If we isolate ourselves like the Mountain Men did, we don’t stand a chance. Come back home, and we can get through this together.”

Octavia’s voice shook slightly, like she was already mourning a break that seemed like it could no longer be fixed. “Not this time, big brother.” Her shoulders and her face fell together, and it was took all her effort to keep her composure. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart in public, so she set her lips in a hard line and turned to her friend. “Clarke?”

“I need to talk to Raven,” Clarke said.

Octavia nodded. “After that, are you staying here, or with us?”

Clarke bit her lip. She passed an uneasy glance at her mother, who looked so distraught at the thought of Clarke leaving again that Clarke almost felt guilty for considering it, despite the fact that the Ark had never felt less like home.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted, and she knew that although Octavia might feel let down if she didn’t come along, she would understand.

“Look, I get it. If you change your mind…” Octavia passed a furtive glance between Bellamy and Kane. She wasn’t about to divulge the location of their friends’ camp in front of them, not when they were working so closely with the rebel leaders who would surely strike if they knew its location. “You remember where Lincoln picked up you and Finn after the first grounder attack?”

“Yeah.” Anya nearly executing them wasn’t an experience Clarke would forget easily.

“We’ll be there if you decide come back.” She eyed Clarke’s boot, where she’d been keeping one of her smaller knives tucked away ever since she’d first left Camp Jaha. “Take care of yourself, Clarke.”

Octavia gave Clarke a single parting nod before ducking out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind her. Bellamy kept staring at it like he half expected her reenter moments later, but she never did.

Nobody said a word for the longest time, not even Raven, who was occasionally known to offer levity in some tense situations.

Clarke couldn’t believe the political shambles her people had become, and she suspected that if she spoke to more of her friends, she would only hear more of the same. It explained why nobody seemed especially pleased to see her return. They may have been relieved to hear of her survival, but the more pressing matter on their minds, what they’d been conditioned to see, was only that Clarke had shown up with the wrong grounders.

Deep down, she knew what triggered the change. When people were scared, they would do anything, agree with anything to feel safe. People argued endlessly over how best to achieve peace, but fear unified masses like no other force Clarke had ever seen. She only worried that it wouldn’t last, that the rash and loose decisions they made now would end up haunting them sooner rather than later. After that, they wouldn’t be any better off than the Mountain Men.

Then another sobering thought hit Clarke. “Bellamy, when did the Ice Nation show up at Mount Weather?”

“A little over a week ago,” he answered with a frown. “Why?”

“Titus and Knox aren’t from the Ice Nation,” Clarke pointed out.

“They came later. The queen said her chief ambassador was staying in Maungedakru, so she sent out messengers to him asking them to come and work on the new treaty.”

“Does her chief ambassador have a name?”

“Roan. The four of them arrived a little over three days later.”

Clarke was certain she’d heard the name before, though she couldn’t recall exactly where. The second part of his statement bothered her. “ _Four_ of them?”

Roan, Titus, Knox… Who was the fourth person? Not to mention, Roan was one of the figures notably absent from Camp Jaha at the moment. Bellamy looked away evasively and shifted in his seat.

“Roan brought someone with him,” he explained, then looking up at Clarke, he added, “It was Carl Emerson.”

A chill ran over Clarke’s skin. If Emerson had come with Roan to Mount Weather, and neither of them had left to join their leaders at Camp Jaha… “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“His fingerprints bypass every biometric security system at Mount Weather,” Bellamy argued. “Monty has been working on a hack for months, and Emerson can open it in minutes. He’s a human key.”

“So he’s still _there_?” Clarke asked incredulously.

“Roan’s keeping an eye on him. The Ice Nation captured him after he escaped, and they’ve been keeping him as an informant.”

Clarke didn’t know what kind of information Emerson could offer that would be of any use to the Ice Nation. He probably had some rudimentary knowledge of the clans but nothing that they wouldn’t have already known.

His knowledge of Mount Weather was a different story, however. He knew more about the mountain than Bellamy and Monty could hope to uncover with ten years of sleuthing, and him being there posed a huge risk, despite—and maybe even _because_ of—who was keeping watch over him.

“That doesn’t exactly instill much confidence,” Clarke said. “The Ice Nation is armed.”

“Almost every grounder I’ve met has been armed.”

“With guns?” Clarke raised an eyebrow at him, and the brief flicker of surprise that crossed Bellamy’s expression confirmed her suspicions. “The Ice Nation has more than a few of them. Station Thirteen crashed in their territory fifteen years ago, and they raided their armory.”

Kane narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. As Pike pointed out, he’d been a member on the council that sentenced them to separation, but Bellamy hadn’t known that. His shock mirrored Clarke’s own when she first heard the news.

“I hope you at least searched them before turning them loose inside Mount Weather—thoroughly,” Clarke said. “Or at least have them both under surveillance at all times. For someone who wants to prove he can protect everyone, it’d be a shame to see a couple of people take the mountain back from you. You and I both know that’s not exactly unheard of, right?”

Clarke could tell by the haunted look she saw on Bellamy’s face that he hadn’t taken any special precautions at the mountain. She would bet on him radioing Mount Weather as soon as he left the room. She pushed her chair back from the table, and moved to stand up.

Their exchange had been mostly one sided, and she should have known they would have pressed Clarke for more information—information that she didn’t have. At least not yet.

“Not so fast, Clarke. What’s this I hear about a bomb?” Kane asked.

“You know about as much as I do,” Clarke answered with a shrug. His answering look was dubious, but Clarke had nothing else to offer, though she hoped that Raven was able to change that soon. “Murphy got lost in the dead zone, and he says that there may be a bomb hiding somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Clarke said, edging toward exasperation. “I’ve got a computer that I need Raven to fix. Hopefully that gives us some more answers. So if you’ll excuse us…”

Clarke found her mother’s hand and squeezed it before inviting Raven to come with her, which she did without hesitation. Bellamy watched her leave wistfully, and Kane in utter bewilderment.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Raven’s workshop seemed emptier than Clarke remembered it. Her tools sat cluttered around one side of the room, but the other side was left barren. Clarke suspected the arrangement was related to something more than her limited mobility, but she didn’t ask out of respect for her friend, and in any case, Raven didn’t mention it. She settled onto her stool and flicked the lamp on that basked her table in a ray of warm light. Clarke sat across from her and watched.

Raven pulled Murphy’s laptop from the bag carefully, examining it top to bottom  like it was some sort of prized possession. To Clarke, it looked much like every other computer she’d ever seen, but to Raven, it was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen.

“Amazing,” she mused. “It’s one of the elite models. Mint condition.”

Clarke frowned. “In dumb people terms, please?”

“These things were the shit before the world ended. I bet you could search the entire earth and not find another one like it—at least, not one this well preserved,” Raven gushed. When she finished, she laid down the laptop on the table and told her, “You’re not dumb, by the way.”

Clarke smiled. “Says the rocket scientist.”

“That’s right, so you’d better believe it,” Raven quipped. “Now hand me that torque screwdriver.”

“The what?”

Raven sighed. “I’ll retract my previous statement.” She pointed to the pile of tools, which sat closer to Clarke than it did to Raven. “The thing with the green handle.”

Clarke fished it out of the pile, and handed it over to Raven, who started expertly taking the machine apart piece by piece. In no time, she had the circuit boards exposed, her eyes raking over complexities that nobody else would ever understand. Clarke expected her to comment on it, but after a moment’s admiration, Raven continued right on with her careful deconstruction. There was a artful precision to it, and Clarke appreciated watching her work.

“You look different, you know,” Raven said after some time. She freed another delicate computer part and set it aside. Clarke shifted self-consciously in her seat. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she clarified. “Like _fierce_ , you know? I like the paint, by the way. Really brings out your eyes.” Her response was so blasé that Clarke couldn’t easily tell if she was joking or not.

“You look pretty different yourself,” Clarke commented back at her. Raven didn’t immediately respond, and Clarke started to think that maybe she had said something wrong.

Because Raven didn’t look any different. Not superficially, at least. She’d weathered the storm on the Ark like so many others, and the only thing that had changed since Clarke last saw her was Raven’s leg and the brace she wore on it. She’d worked through her first injury—and had some minor improvements—but Raven could hardly walk now. Clarke hadn’t asked her about it for fear of upsetting her.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke offered lamely, feeling like the smallest person in the world.

 “There’s nothing for _you_ to feel sorry about.” Raven sighed, setting down her screwdriver and staring at Clarke. “We’re friends, right? If you want to know something, just ask. It’s not like talking about stuff is off limits.”

Clarke nodded, twirling one of Raven’s unused tools in her hands absentmindedly. After a few moments, she asked softly, “What happened to your leg?”

That seemed to be all that Raven needed to ease the tension in her body. She visibly relaxed once Clarke finally aired her concern and went right back to work.

“I got an infection from the bone drills, and apparently,” Raven pulled at a stubborn steel plate with a little more gusto, “severe infections can spread through the blood. And one of the first places they go is—”

“The back,” Clarke said reflexively. She’d heard her mother say as much when the Ark was still in space, a time when antibiotics were rationed and treated like the sacred commodities they were.

“Exactly. And tiny bullet fragments don’t exactly help,” Raven explained. “I got sick, and there weren’t enough antibiotics left on the Ark. We had to wait for the others to get back from Mount Weather, and before they got back, I lost all sensation in my legs. Then came the surgery.”

Clarke winced reactively. The screams from Raven’s first surgery were the stuff of nightmares, second perhaps only to the ones Clarke remembered hearing right after she’d killed Finn. She couldn’t imagine her going through that again.

Nobody should have to go through that twice.

Raven watched her carefully. “Mount Weather had support for anesthesia, so I at least didn’t have to be awake this time.” She sounded as equally relieved as Clarke for that small mercy. “I got the feeling back on my right side, but now the left is completely gone.”

“Is there any hope for it coming back?”

“Abby says there’s a zero to five percent chance that I’ll be able to walk without the brace again. Probably an even smaller chance for doing ship repairs on my own.”

Clarke knew what that meant to doctors. They couldn’t make ironclad guarantees (after all, miracles _could_ happen), but her chances were essentially nil. “I’m sorry Raven.”

“Hey, at least I’m alive,” Raven said with a shrug. “The rest I can work with. I have a ragtag team of minions to do my bidding for me now.”

Clarke nodded. “How long were you in medical?”

“A little over a month,” she answered offhandedly, distracted by her work once again.

“That seems like a long time.”

“It was, but there were a lot of other people who were a lot sicker than me, as you heard. I’ve never seen your mom so stressed before—total wreck,” Raven added, shaking her head.

Clarke stared at the table while the guilt drilled through her chest. Her mother had to contend with an unfamiliar sickness soon after their return from the mountain, followed sometime later by the rumors of Clarke’s death. She’d even resigned her position, which was such uncharacteristic behavior that Clarke hadn’t believed it when she initially heard it. But Abby had always taken solace in her patients, so it made sense that she would have turned all her attention to the medical bay for relief.

“How is she?” Clarke asked hesitantly.

 “She’s doing better now. You’re back, for starters.” Raven briefly glanced up from her work and gave Clarke a knowing smile. “She usually drops by here when she finishes—that’ll be in—” she looked at the clock on her wall, “—about two hours. You should stay.”

“I think I will.” Clarke watched as Raven continued to empty the contents of the computer across her workstation. It amazed her how much gadgetry fit in such a compact space, and Raven handed it all like she’d seen it a million times before. “You two seem close,” she commented.

“It’s like you said. A month in medical is a long time—and that’s not even counting my rehab. For as many people as there are in this place, it’s been fucking lonely. We both needed people to talk to.”

“So you and Wick…?” Clarke trailed off awkwardly.

Raven looked away and pried off a metal covering by snapping it clean in half; Clarke hoped it wasn’t anything important. “Absolutely not.”

That explained why the room was half emptied out. Wick had been using it as a workstation just as much as Raven, and if he’d cleared out his belongings, that could only mean he’d been one of the people to move to Mount Weather. He was probably helping Bellamy repair all they’d broken during the attack. The main door, the turbines…

“What happened?” Clarke asked curiously. She’d seen them together briefly after when they returned to Camp Jaha, and the two had seemed inseparable back then. But a lot could happen in three months, Clarke recalled.

“I didn’t know if I was even going to be able to walk again,” Raven said, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t ready, and apparently that wasn’t good enough.”

“I’d still pick you first, you know,” Clarke said earnestly. “Even now.”

Raven stilled, and after a moment, she deadpanned: “Hell yeah, you would. I’m fucking awesome.”

Both of them laughed easily with each other, and it was like the past three months had simply been cut out of existence. If only the rest of Clarke’s problems could be solved so easily; the world surrounding her seemed to be crumbling to pieces with every passing day.

Raven was having no such difficulties today. She slowly and carefully lifted out a pristine metal box and placed it lightly on the table, clearing out the rest of the spare parts around it.

Clarke asked the inevitable question. “Is that it?”

“That’s the hard drive,” Raven said, nodding.

Clarke stared at the innocent looking chunk of metal, realizing that all the information she needed to either confirm or deny Murphy’s story were hidden away inside it. “It’s like Pandora’s box,” she said with growing apprehension.

“Hopefully, we don’t release a scourge of evils on the earth,” Raven joked, but when she saw Clarke’s aghast expression she backtracked. “Look, whatever’s out there is already waiting for us. It’s data, Clarke. Information doesn’t kill people.”

Clarke still shuddered when Raven popped off its lid, exposing the hard drive’s innards. The mechanic frowned, which made Clarke incredibly uneasy. Everything hinged on them being able to glean information from the now defunct disk.

“What is it?” Clarke urged.

“Data is stored on these metal discs called platters, and when they spin, a tiny lens reads the ones and zeros,” Raven explained. “Normally, I would just be able to switch the platters to an already working hard drive case, but these aren’t standard size. At least, not compared to what we’ve used on the Ark.”

“What does that mean?”

Raven did some more poking around.

“It means that unless we find spare compatible parts lying around here, which is highly unlikely, I’m going to need to rebuild the hard drive’s motor, so we can connect it as an external drive. That’s assuming we can even make the software compatible.” Raven rubbed her temples in frustration. “I may need to call in Monty to program a patch for the legacy operating system.”

Clarke didn’t fully understand the details, but she got the general gist of Raven’s assessment. She needed to build a new computer part from scratch, and Monty had to make sure the software would work with the Ark’s computers once Raven finished.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Probably a week or two.”

Clarke stared at her. “A whole _week_?”

The information needed to be acted on _urgently_ , not to mention, her friends were staying in a camp just a few miles from here. With a civil war already raging, it was a dangerous place for them to be waiting, especially with the opposing leaders at Camp Jaha. If they were actively searching, one week was plenty of time to sniff out the camp’s location and stage an attack—and two weeks was more than enough.

“If I can get a few spare hands to help me scrap parts, I can maybe save a couple of days,” Raven said. “But even with help, this is a complex project. I can’t rush it, or I could ruin everything.”

Clarke nodded. “I’ll help you. There have to be others on the Ark who will help too.”

Raven gave her a skeptical look but said nothing.

After a moment, Clarke realized that she would be hard pressed to persuade anyone aboard the Ark to help her. The few allies she could claim were at Mount Weather, and everyone at Camp Jaha was skeptical at best. Yet when Abby pushed her way into Raven’s workroom, she wasn’t suspicious, nor was she judgmental.

Between Raven and her mother, Clarke felt like she already had the best allies she’d ever need.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The short time with Raven and her mother was a brief vacation from reality. It felt normal, _light_ , like all the problems facing them were a million miles away instead of waiting right on their doorstep.

Abby was distraught when Clarke first announced she had to leave to return to the grounder camp. The last time Clarke left, she hadn’t returned for three months. Abby was only mollified when Clarke informed her she would be returning tomorrow.

Sinclair had Raine waiting outside the gate for her. Clarke quickly thanked him, and she left without delay, hoping to make it back to camp before sundown. She was acutely aware that she was being watched—by both Arkers and the rebel clan leaders—as she left. Clarke deliberately rode off into the forest headed in the wrong direction to throw them off her trail, intending to redirect her course once she was out of sight.

The guards’ attention waned before Clarke even cleared the entrance, but there was one figure who watched Clarke as closely as a hawk hunting its prey, and it was the last person she wanted to see again: Nia. Clarke only started breathing easily again after she passed clear out of her line of sight.

She steered Raine through the maze of bare trees to the clearing where she’d nearly been executed months ago, hair windswept and cheeks pink from the cold air that whipped across her face during the ride. As soon as the others heard her arrival, they instinctively drifted toward her, eager to hear what new information she had to offer.

Luna was among the first. She rushed forward with one hand resting on her sword at her waist, checking the trees to see if Clarke had been followed. Octavia was at her side and was awash with relief to see her friend unharmed. Lexa followed at a more dignified pace, but she too seemed at least equally relieved by her presence.

“Were you followed?” Luna asked urgently.

Clarke shook her head. “Nobody went after me. I left in the opposite direction, and circled back around the mountain.”

“That’s my girl,” Luna said with an appreciative grin. It was something that over a month ago, Luna would have had to instruct her to do, but now Clarke did it independently without prompting. “How long will your friend need to make repairs?”

“Around a week.”

Her news wasn’t what anyone had been hoping for. Disgruntled murmurs sounded throughout the camp, but Luna reassured them: “She is Clarke’s trusted friend. If that’s the best she can do, then we will have to adjust accordingly.” She barked orders at her generals to begin hunting and setting up their tents before nightfall, and the other clan leaders followed her lead.

Octavia slid through the dispersing crowd to Clarke’s side. She looked almost apologetic for leaving prematurely, but Clarke couldn’t fault her under the circumstances. Bellamy was her only family left, who Octavia valued more than anyone else, and he was being an obstinate ass. Had the situations been reversed, had Abby been the source of the civil unrest in Camp Jaha, Clarke was quite certain she would’ve attempted an early escape too.

“After I left, did Kane mention anything about their plans for the rebels?” Octavia asked.

“He’s planning to continue their treaty negotiations as usual. No changes for now,” Clarke told her, and Octavia’s already battered spirit took yet another blow.

During the brief visit with Raven and her mother, Abby offered to speak to Kane on her own. Clarke was surprised to hear it, especially after hearing how she’d resigned her position as Chancellor. She didn’t know what sort of influence her mother realistically had anymore, but she seemed confident enough, even said that Clarke had reason to stay optimistic.

After being reunited with her daughter, the tired, downtrodden woman Clarke heard so much about was nowhere to be found. Even though the situation looked grim back at the Ark, Clarke had faith that Abby could start to swing the tides in their direction. But she didn’t want to get Octavia’s hopes up in case she happened to he wrong.

Clarke nudged Octavia’s shoulder gently. “Don’t give up on Camp Jaha yet, okay?”

The leaders and generals made quick work of the camping preparations. They arranged a workable schedule for a company of guards and perimeter scouts, replete with archers and gunners, long before night fell. By the time dinner was served and the weary travelers were busy resting their bodies and filling their stomachs, Clarke had already separated herself from the others. She stayed within the guard boundaries, but she wandered well out of earshot. Only the faint sounds of their conversations broke the quiet hum of the winter breeze.

A set of careful footsteps padded behind her, and Clarke had honestly expected them sooner. Lexa, who’d been quietly watching her since she returned from the Ark, finally made her approach, carefully adjusting her sword at her waist before slowly lowering herself to the ground next to her.

She said nothing at first, quite content to simply enjoy the calm between them. Clarke was surprised that the involuntary surge of anger and hurt that she’d started associating with Lexa’s closeness never reared its head this time. She didn’t know if there was any significance to that fact, and she didn’t have much time to ponder it.

“I don’t presume to know your intentions, Clarke,” Lexa murmured. “But others will be watching your actions closely and will be making assumptions based on your every move, your every word. Your allegiances will be examined and questioned. You should be careful not to needlessly endanger yourself without knowing the consequences.”

Clarke turned to stare at Lexa. Of all the things she’d expected to possibly hear, none of them had been included that statement. “What are you talking about?”

“People watch you; they value your presence. You’re their Wanheda.”

“Commander of Death, yeah so I’ve heard,” Clarke said with a roll of her eyes. “That’s one hell of a nickname. You know, I still can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”

Even though Lexa bristled at the instant dismissal, she didn’t immediately respond in kind. She considered her words carefully, not wanting to risk further upsetting Clarke in an attempt to correct her. She’d already thrown the title in her face once, in the heat of anger, and it ended with Clarke holding a gun her face.

“Life and death are simply mirrors of each other,” Lexa said with surprising calmness. “Nobody controls the circumstances in which they are brought into the world, but sometimes—if we are incredibly lucky—we have a say in how we leave it. There can be dignity in death, and that is to be respected, Clarke.” Lexa’s tone took on an almost reverent quality as their eyes met. “You have given that to these people. The Mountain Men turned them into animals and and threw them away like garbage, and now you’ve given them a chance to fight and die on their own terms. One decision changed the fate of every single person left on this earth.”

Clarke swallowed. She looked at Lexa, searching for some hint that she was lying to placate her, but she found none. Lexa held her gaze, willing her to see. A sudden rush of nerves invaded Clarke’s body.

For the first time, she wondered if the title was loftier than she deserved—more significant than she’d earned. She’d only done what she needed to do to protect her people, nothing more. She hadn’t pulled the lever to save the grounders, but she _had_ , in a way.

_A century of war, ended in a single night._

The grounders weren’t being exterminated any longer. They still faced danger—a brewing civil war, and now the threat of nuclear disaster—but every person in the camp could freely choose a side to fight and die for, or choose not to fight at all and die of their natural afflictions. Clarke’s actions had offered them that. Death still followed her around like it was her shadow, but Clarke could control where her shadow was cast.

“If that’s the case, then why would I be in danger?” Clarke asked, less distant.

The tension in Lexa’s shoulder’s relaxed, relieved that her statement hadn’t made matters more acrimonious between them. “Because there is a divide that I fear can’t be reconciled, even to address a danger that affects us all equally. The Skaikru gunners wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot me on the spot had you not ridden ahead of me.”

Clarke couldn’t argue that point; she was probably right. “And what about Nia?”

Lexa’s jaw set in a hard line. “She would not kill me… at least not right away. At the moment, I would be more useful to her alive than dead.”

“But she already tried to kill you,” Clarke said, remembering Lexa’s grave injury. “She nearly _did_.”

“It grows more difficult to justify a war when your losses grow higher. At the beginning, my death would have represented a great victory, but the rebels sustained heavy casualties in Polis—and conquering Worgedakru’s territory was surely no easy feat either. People begin to question their leadership when fortunes run low. Nia is many things, but above all she is shrewd. If she could use my capture to solidify her support within the rebellion, and possibly intimidate other clans into defecting to her cause, she wouldn’t hesitate to do so.”

“So she would hold you prisoner,” Clarke reasoned. “For leverage.”

Lexa shook her head, her eyes focusing on some far off place, lost in some haunting memory that Clarke couldn’t even begin to fathom. “Nia does not routinely strike bargains with her enemies… at least not fair ones. She would try to break me, break the alliance, break those who I’m entrusted to protect. It would be slow, excruciating, and only when my usefulness had run out, would she dare ending my misery.” Lexa continued staring for a few long moments at nothing in particular, as events from her past replayed over in her mind. When they finished, she blinked quickly, turning toward Clarke. “You needn’t expose yourself to that same danger, Clarke.”

“You think she would torture me if I didn’t join her side?” Clarke asked, her stomach turning uncomfortably at the idea.

She’d never been tortured, only seen it, but the flickering images from her memory still nauseated her. Lincoln being tied up, whipped, stabbed, shocked. Raven being cut with a knife. Jasper speared and tied to a tree for bait. Murphy being beaten and hanged. Clarke certainly had no interest in dying, but torture… she didn’t know if she could handle it.

Lexa shook her head, only temporarily alleviating some of Clarke’s unease. “You’re Wanheda. She wouldn’t expose you to physical injury, not if she wants to use your support to forge a new empire.”

Clarke could only imagine what Lexa meant. She imagined being captured by the queen taken to Azgeda and being touted like a prize throughout the city. The only snag in that plan was that it presumed Clarke was willing to cooperate.

She most definitely wasn’t. “And what if I didn’t support her?”

“She will find a way to break you,” Lexa said simply— _knowingly_. Something in her tone implied a fate more sinister than physical torture; Clarke shuddered to think what that could be. “You’ve returned to the public eye, and people will be watching and interpreting your every move. You are always free to make your own decisions, but I only ask that you be mindful of the response it may trigger. Your return to our camp may have sent an unintentional message without you even realizing it.”

Clarke was overcome with chills, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body, covering herself with her fur cloak. She feared for her mother, for Raven—even for Kane and Bellamy, who were so lost in their fearful delusions that they would reactively choose to ally themselves with an unpredictable despot—and what Nia could possibly do to them. Especially if Nia knew their significance to her.

“How can anybody support what she does?” Clarke asked disbelievingly.

“Her people say that her leadership is unmatched,” Lexa answered, deliberating  the rest of her response for some time. “From their perspective, I suppose one could understand why. The Ice Nation’s territories are vast. Its people are strong, well-provisioned, and they have not been defeated in battle during my lifetime. Nia isn’t known for her diplomacy, but she has always been feared, and thus respected.”

Clarke had seen enough failed leaders in her lifetime to know that respect gained through fear and intimidation was fleeting. Once their fortunes ebbed, they lost the handle of control.

Nia’s longevity and prosperity as Azgedakru’s queen was either due to her isolation the north and the scarcity of dissenters, or the fact that she’d ruled her regime with an iron fist. Clarke couldn’t imagine the queen conceding leadership to anyone.

“How did you convince her to join the alliance the first time?” Clarke asked.

A flicker of sadness shot across Lexa’s face, and although she masked it quickly, Clarke noticed. Just like she’d noticed when Lexa executed Gustus. Whatever had transpired in completing the original alliance was also mired with pain.

Lexa swallowed, confirming Clarke’s suspicions. “It was not without difficulty.” Clarke waited, but Lexa offered no further explanation.

Instead, Clarke mulled over the options Lexa presented. She was keenly aware that Nia had been watching as she left, most likely making assumptions about her allegiances. Clarke’s opinion of her was already spoiled. The savagery she’d shown her friends from station thirteen, as well as her suspicious motives for involving Skaikru in her civil war were enough for Clarke not to trust her.

But if Clarke wanted to call for a truce, if she wanted all clans to work together peacefully to find and disarm the bomb that was hiding in their lands, she couldn’t be accused of choosing a side in the civil war. Clarke— _Wanheda_ —was the uniting force that could bring them together if she was seen as impartial. That was what Lexa had been warning her about. Her presence here could be seen as a tacit endorsement of the old alliance.

Clarke slowly climbed to her feet. Lexa wasn’t surprised that she moved from her spot next to her, but she was surprised when Clarke extended her hand to pull her upright too. Clarke tried to ignore the ache she felt at Lexa’s hopeful expression. Lexa grasped her hand, and Clarke gently pulled until she was standing, just a little too close for comfort. She flustered and quickly stepped back to a more agreeable distance.

“I’m going back to Camp Jaha tomorrow,” Clarke announced, only loud enough for Lexa’s ears. “I’m going to stay and help Raven until she finishes the job.”

Lexa nodded in understanding, clearly expecting the choice, but Clarke didn’t know if she was imagining a faint disappointment there as well. “How do you plan to send a message when your friend has finished?”

Clarke thought for a moment. “I can have Octavia make runs to Camp Jaha. Bellamy wouldn’t let anyone from the guard lay a hand on her.”

“I hope your confidence in them isn’t unfounded.”

“It’s not,” Clarke answered defensively.

“I mean no offense,” Lexa held a hand up in supplication. “I know the enormity of the task in front of you. Believe me when I say that acting as mediator between twelve hostile clans—thirteen—” she amended, including Skaikru in the count, “—is no easy feat. That isn’t the voice of doubt, Clarke. It’s the voice of experience. You are capable, but you will be scrutinized. They will question your plan if they believe you have ulterior motives. You must be vigilant.”

“And what about the alliance?” Clarke raised an eyebrow at her. “Are they going to start questioning my motives once I go back?”

“They won’t.” Lexa’s answer was firm. “Because _I_ trust your motives. That is reason enough for the others.”


	8. Clash of Clans

Today was the day.

Raven had worked tirelessly over the past week. Clarke tried to help as best she could, but she was mostly useful for fetching supplies and keeping her friend company. Clarke loved hearing Raven’s stories about what had happened in her absence. Raven fired on all cylinders, and by the end of their time together, Clarke knew exactly who’d behaved like a dipshit and who’d been an insufferable ass during her absence. Some of the names surprised her, others didn’t.

Raven had trailed off into silence during one of these stories, stopping mid sentence. Clarke looked to Raven quizzically, and she had this far off expression that instantly caused Clarke concern.

“Raven?” she prodded gently. “Something wrong?”

Raven’s eyes stayed wide and staring down toward her workstation, and she delayed for so long that Clarke started to worry that maybe she’d accidentally ruined the hard drive. “Nothing’s wrong.”

 “Then what?” Clarke’s worst fears were momentarily allayed.

Raven raised her eye’s to meet Clarke’s slowly, her face still dazed. She blinked several times as if she only just realized the significance of her question. “It’s finished. Monty needs to install the software patch, but the drive itself works.”

That had been earlier this morning. Raven hobbled off to find Monty, who’d recently arrived from Mount Weather just for the occasion. She’d then told Clarke to sit tight and wait—that she’d be back as soon as she could. Clarke updated Octavia and sent her back to the grounder camp, and then she waited.

She’d kept up appearances at Camp Jaha. It was no secret that she stayed every night, and with their heightened security, elopement was an impossibility. That didn’t make interacting with the Arkers any easier. They continued to mistrust her, and Clarke went to great lengths to avoid the rebel grounders altogether. It wasn’t especially difficult; she’d learned that most of their army was stationed at a camp just inside Mount Weather’s protective catchment area, which was forty miles away.

She’d run across Knox in the hallways one afternoon while Raven was busy with physical therapy, and since then, Clarke made a point to stick to the most isolated areas of the Ark—mostly sections that had been damaged after the crash that nobody dared to visit.

She’d already cleared away most of the debris that blocked access to the remaining sections. Today, she pulled another section of collapsed ceiling away, revealing a hole tall and wide enough for her to step through. Clarke emerged on the other side in a familiar environment, one that she used to call home: the Ark’s old prison cells.

The doors were all flung open on their hinges, and beams of light filtered in through holes in the broken ceiling. Clarke never knew the number of her cell—never saw the plate mounted outside her own door—and she wandered aimlessly through the corridor, passing the cells and considering which ones had belonged to her friends. The year Clarke spent here had been the most despondent time of her life before landing on the ground, and now that felt like a memory from another lifetime.

Wall etchings caught Clarke’s eye, and when she stepped inside the old cell, she realized it was hers. The marks had faded, whether that was from an attempt to scrub them off or natural wear, she didn’t know. The old mattress was still there. Clarke ran her fingers over its surface before climbing on top, sitting with her knees pulled firmly against her chest.

The cell was quiet, peaceful. Depending on what Raven and Monty found on the computer, it could be one of the last times she had to enjoy the feeling. She wanted to be left alone to savor it without the threat of dangers from the forest hanging over her head. Minutes stretched to hours, and nobody came to find her until early in the afternoon.

Hesitant footsteps echoed through the corridor outside. Clarke recognized the hollow ring of the Ark-supplied boots against the floor, and she relaxed her muscles, not moving from her position on the bed. Abby emerged in the doorway moments later.

“I didn’t think you’d be done with work until later tonight.” Clarke said softly. “How did you find me?”

Abby leaned on the door with her shoulder. “I passed Raven in the main corridor. Her and Monty were just about finished, which I guess explains why all of my patients suddenly remembered they had other places to be today. She told me you’d been spending a lot of time in this section.”

Clarke nodded, keeping her chin resting across her forearms. Clarke had cleared out a path through the debris, and Abby had simply followed it.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Abby asked hesitantly.

Clarke nodded again and scooted over to make room for her mother on the thin, tiny mattress. Abby climbed up next to her, folding her legs underneath her body. She admired Clarke’s various drawings on the walls and on the floor.

Neither of them spoke for some time. The cell felt just as peaceful but significantly less empty. This was the first reprieve they had alone together since Clarke’s return. Clarke reached down to find her mother’s hand, and she grasped it firmly. Abby looked down in surprise but squeezed back with no intention of letting go.

“How’s it going with Kane?”  Clarke asked, her voice raspy from disuse.

“He’s coming around,” Abby answered, sounding more uncertain than her statement suggested. “He’s still having to fight against public opinion. Everyone has had a rough time after we returned to camp, and the guards are being especially difficult. If anything were to happen, they’d be the ones on the front line.”

“They’d still listen to you.”

“I don’t have my position anymore.”

Clarke still thought her mother carried enough clout to influence their opinions. Then again, it would always be difficult to overcome the mob mentality. That required power, of which Abby now had very little. Respect meant next to nothing to a mob.

She had to hope Kane was making progress. Otherwise, they’d get dragged into the middle of a war, and there were more important matters to attend to besides their conflicts with each other. Clarke needed whatever Raven found on the computer to be enough to rally both sides to unite for a common cause.

She could no longer count on the Ark to support her, as they no longer recognized her as one of their leaders. Like her mother, she’d abandoned those responsibilities. Yet unlike her mother, Clarke had become something else entirely—the new icon of a coalition.

Her people thought her dead, and the grounders considered her some kind of hero. Leaving Camp Jaha had been what Clarke needed; she only regretted how much her leaving had hurt the people she cared about. Her mom, Raven, Bellamy—even Kane. It was a long while before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving,” Clarke said guiltily. “I just knew you would’ve tried to get me to stay.”

“You’re right, I would have.” Despite the admission, her tone carried no bitterness.

“And hearing you say that would have killed me. I would have left anyway, but I would’ve hated myself even more for doing it if you’d known.”

Both of them knew without a doubt that it was true, and Abby didn’t bother arguing against her choice. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed but pulled Clarke’s hand a little closer.

“Protecting you has always been my first priority, from the day you were born to the day you learned to walk, and to the day you first fell down and scraped your knee,” Abby said fondly before growing somber once again. “When you first landed in solitary, I worked with Thelonious to get you aboard the dropship. It was the last chance to suspend your sentence before you turned eighteen.”

Clarke remembered the day well, but it seemed like another lifetime. She’d been terrified, thinking the Ark’s guards arrived early to have her floated, but she’d been drugged and shuttled down to earth instead. There were over a hundred prisoners in these cells. Some were left behind, and if one of those people had been Clarke, her birthday would have passed and she would have been floated. It would have been painless at least, but Clarke wasn’t ready to die. There was too much life left to live.

Abby continued: “I hardly slept for the next month. Knowing you were down on Earth, knowing what kind of dangers you were facing… I needed to see you alive. I needed to be with you, to protect you. And then when you—” Abby’s voice choked, and Clarke knew what memory bothered her.

Clarke had just removed her wristband, causing her vitals to flatline on the Ark’s monitors. Abby thought she’d died, and that’s exactly what Clarke wanted at the time. Now, she felt sick at the memory of what she’d done.

“The information we had wasn’t right,” Abby said. “When we finally got down to the Earth, I thought that would be it. I would finally be able to protect you.” Her voice shook again. “But I didn’t. I _couldn_ _’t_.”

“None of that was your fault,” Clarke assured her.

Abby had seen Clarke badly beaten. She’d seen her intimidated. She’d seen her own daughter commit murder and genocide. She’d seen her abandon a village full of innocents to death by fire. Clarke idly wondered if her mother feared more for her physical safety or the wellbeing of her soul.

“I know,” Abby said, “but it wasn’t yours either. I suppose that’s part of being a mom. Questioning, doubting anything that could have possibly hurt you. I spent the last two months thinking you were gone forever, and now that you’re back, I realized… You haven’t needed me to protect you in a long time. You’ve grown up, Clarke. You’re more than capable on your own, and as your mom, that _terrifies_ me.”

“You know that doesn’t mean I love you any less, right?” Clarke leaned her head into her mother’s shoulder, and Abby rested her cheek against it.

“It’s always nice to hear,” Abby replied, and Clarke could feel the smile pulling at her lips. “Whatever happens, I’m not going to lose you again.”

“Even if that means not coming back to Camp Jaha?”

Abby leaned away from her briefly, smoothing some of Clarke’s braids with her fingers. The fact that Clarke deliberately avoided returning to the Ark’s usual attire wasn’t missed by anyone, least of all her mother, who was also one of the smartest people aboard the Ark. After their current mess was sorted, Camp Jaha was the last place she expected Clarke to stay.

“Even though I’ve had my doubts, your decisions have usually panned out okay,” Abby said. “You’ll have to find me some boots just like yours, though.”

The fur lining and flexible hide allowed Clarke to move freely and silently wherever she went, and the waxy finish repelled the rain and snow from her socks underneath. She would have preferred these over the Ark’s supply any day.

“Deal.” Clarke smiled.

A shrill beeping noise cut through their moment. Clarke frowned, and Abby let go of her hand, apologetically reaching for her waistband and pulling away.

“What was _that_?” Clarke asked, wincing as the noise blasted against her eardrums.

Her mom held up a tiny device, and with a deft press of a button, the sound cut off and they were in silence again.

“Raven made this for me to use when I was spending most of my days and nights in medical,” she explained. “It only gets short messages, but the reception is much more reliable than our traditional radios. Doctors used to carry these a hundred fifty years ago, so I’m told the technology is archaic… but I’ve actually found it quite useful.” Abby squinted at the tiny screen to read the message, and her expression instantly sobered.

“What is it?” Clarke asked.

“That was Raven,” she said. “Everyone is waiting in the control room. They’re ready.”

Clarke’s heart migrated somewhere up in her throat. She climbed out of the bunk and led her mother out of the cell and back to the main section of the Ark.

As she passed the others with her mom trailing closely behind her, she realized that nobody else aboard the Ark knew exactly what was happening. They weren’t stupid; most of them could deduce from Clarke’s sudden reappearance that something was amiss. Despite the inquisitive expressions they encountered neither Clarke nor her mother said anything.

They knocked at the air locked control room doors, which sprung apart on command and closed behind them. Clarke was immediately confronted by the most intimidating yet awkward scene she’d ever witnessed.

A huge semicircular table stood at the center of the room. On one side sat the clan leaders in Lexa’s alliance, along with a few other notable faces: Murphy (and his personal guard, Remy), Octavia, Indra, and Pike. On the other side, Nia’s rebel leaders, Bellamy, Kane, and another grounder at Nia’s right hand that Clarke didn’t recognize.

Lexa, Nia, and Kane practiced their most dignified poses, but most of the other members sitting at each side leered at the people sitting across from them. Guards armed with assault rifles manned the door.

 Surprisingly, Pike was one of the few whose intent didn’t appear malicious. After his people’s sordid history with the Ice Nation, he wasn’t staring daggers at their queen like Clarke would have expected. Instead, he seemed preoccupied with Echo and was watching her curiously; she was busy whispering into Bellamy’s ear and didn’t notice the extra attention.

Raven and Monty were seated near the podium at the front of the command room in front of an enormous screen. Monty’s face lit up with excitement upon seeing Clarke, and he gave her a surreptitious wave. Raven on the other hand, appeared positively nauseous. That instantly put Clarke on alert. She and her mother shuffled wordlessly to the far side of the room, sitting along the curve bridging the two sides.

Kane stood up and called the room to order. With the exception of Pike, who was too outnumbered to voice his malcontent, Kane was a relatively noncontentious figure to everyone on the room. They fell silent, and he motioned for Clarke to make the introduction.

She rose from her seat, feeling the weight of the stares pressing in on her. Clarke cleared her throat, and said as confidently as she could manage: “Two weeks ago, a member of Skaikru found evidence of a nuclear bomb in the northern territories surrounding the dead zone.”

None of the clan leaders from Lexa’s coalition were surprised by the news, but a two of the leaders sitting on the opposite side of the table were genuinely bewildered by the news. The corner of Nia’s lips twitched, almost as if she were pleased. Clarke ignored her.

“When he returned later, he says the bomb went missing,” Clarke explained. “The only clue we had from the site was a computer that got damaged in his escape. I asked Raven to make the repairs. She and Monty have joined us to review what they found.”

Even Monty seemed less chipper than usual as he powered on the screen behind him, projecting what appeared to be a large computer screen at the front of the room. Raven limped to the podium, grasping it for support. She looked ashen as she spoke.

“I repaired the hard drive, and we were able to extract all its data successfully. Judging by the personal pictures, files, and messages stored on the device, this computer appears to have belonged to a man named Dr. Sheldon Cartwright.” Raven waited for someone to realize the significance of the person she’d just named, but everyone else was bewildered. Confused glances started to pass through both sides of the table before Raven added incredulously, as if she expected them to know already: “He was only one of the most accomplished nuclear scientists of the twenty first century. The youngest Distinguished Chair of the Nuclear Science and Engineering Department at MIT, as well the director of the Plasma Science and Fusion Center.”

No dawning realization hit anyone, and Raven shook her head, muttering beneath her breath something that sounded like, “ _Seriously?_ ”

There were a few polite nods when she mentioned the name, mostly acknowledging that they were listening. It was only after she opened one of the digital images on the big screen that Raven got the visceral response she’d been looking for.

Murphy jumped in his seat, nearly knocking it over. The commotion drew the attention of every single person in the room, and Murphy looked as if he regretted the response already. His face turned red, and Remy reached out to pull him back down.

“It looks like Murphy has something he wants to say,” Raven said, sounding somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Every person in the room waited for him to speak, and Murphy cowered at them. “Th—that’s the guy I saw shoot himself on the video. May 10, 2052.”

Clarke remembered his story.

 _Some woman had the launch codes, then_ bam.

Besides herself, nobody other than Lexa, Luna, and Indra had heard the rest of Murphy’s account.

“That was the day before the space stations were launched and government personnel were evacuated,” Raven pointed out.

“And a week before the apocalypse,” Clarke added.

The timeline was suspicious. If someone had launch codes and wanted to start a nuclear war, why wait a week before detonating the bombs? She should have known that Raven would have provided an answer not long after. A file stored on the hard drive that showed a complicated looking diagram showed up on the screen seconds later.

“This a grant proposal submitted by Dr. Cartwright for a five-core nuclear fission reactor. The Department of Defense accepted his proposal, and MIT received two billion dollars to take on the project.”

“Is that a lot?” Clarke leaned over and whispered to her mom, loud enough for only her ears. Abby seemed surprised by the question, but she nodded gravely.

Nobody in the room, save for Raven and possibly Monty, knew the significance of the device she mentioned. The word _nuclear_ was enough for them to realize it wasn’t something _good_ , but none of them knew the true severity of the threat.

“The device was nearing completion, and it was scheduled for its first testing later that month. It obviously never made it to testing,” Raven said. “I can’t tell from these documents just how much was left to be done, but going through his emails, it looked as if his team was working on the detonation device. There was a two part detonator—an external infrared receiver that could be activated by the plane or drone carrying it, and an internal RF trigger that starts the fission sequence.”

“This is all enlightening information,” Nia said coldly, waving her hand to dismiss the details Raven just described. “But none of this gets us any closer to where this weapon was being held and just how your young friend happened across it.”

Raven wasn’t phased by the response. “The last record I have says that it was being held in MIT’s nuclear research headquarters. After Dr. Cartwright expanded the facilities in 2048, it was the largest and most advanced underground research facility in the world.”

Since this was Dr. Cartwright’s computer, and this was his life’s work, there were bound to be pictures of the place. Raven sorted through them one by one, showing the gathered leaders all the pictures she’d uncovered of the facility.

Murphy spoke up, his eyes wide: “That’s not where I saw the bomb, but I _have_ seen that place before.” Everyone blinked at him, and he waited for someone else to join him in that recognition to no avail. “It’s the City of Light.”

Just as before, Murphy’s claims about the City of Light were met with rolled eyes and exasperated head shaking. The ones who’d sat with him during the first retelling of his story were no longer joining in the ridicule this time. There were too many puzzle pieces from Murphy’s story that were falling into place for Clarke to keep doubting him.

“I’m serious!” Murphy retorted.

“ _How_ have you seen it Murphy?” Raven implored him. “Have you been there?” If someone as smart as Raven needed to ask these questions, surely the others would all be asking them too.

“She showed it to me—ALIE.” He purposefully left out the detail that the woman he’d claimed showed him the City of Light was a hologram; that would have only invited another round of ridicule. “She said there were others who’d already made a home there, and that she was always looking for others to join her.”

Raven pondered his statement for a moment, and Clarke could see that there was some flicker of recognition that had her brain working in overdrive. Clarke could almost hear the snap when the connection struck her. She found one of the old messages— _emails_ —that were stored on the computer, opening it for all to see. It was dated a little over one year before he fatally shot himself.

_Dr. Cartwright,_

_I hope this message finds you well. The Computer Sciences Department would like to extend our sincerest condolences for your loss. We have always known that Rebecca was a visionary, as her great body of work attests to, but beyond that, she was also a great friend and fellow scholar. As our department chair, she was dearly loved and has touched the lives of many of our most esteemed students and colleagues._

_As you know, one of Rebecca_ _’s finest professional achievements was her unparalleled work in artificial intelligence. Sadly, she never had the opportunity to finish the culmination of her life’s study, the Ammunitions Liaison and Intelligence Entity (which she always lovingly referred to as ALIE). As a dear friend and the Interim Chair of the Computer Sciences Department, it would be an honor to continue her great work and see her life’s dreams realized. After her untimely passing, it is my understanding that you are now the sole beneficiary of your wife’s intellectual property, so of course we would not proceed without your blessing._

_I look forward to hearing from you. Please let me know if there is anything more I or one of my colleagues can do to help you during this most difficult time._

_We will be keeping you in our thoughts._

_Sincerely,_

_Damon Pham, PhD_  
Interim Chair, Department of Computer Sciences  
Massachusetts Institute of Technology

“It looks like Dr. Cartwright turned over the patent to ALIE based on his response,” Raven said. “His only request was that the program be completed in the likeness of his late wife, Dr. Rebecca Cartwright.”

The picture Raven located of both professors from one of the university’s research banquets confirmed the last part of Murphy’s outlandish story. She was the same woman he’d seen, down to the high cheekbones, the flawless makeup and the form fitting red dress.

It seemed unfair to call ALIE a _person_ in her present form, but this woman’s creation wanted them all dead, and in all likelihood had been responsible for the original disaster. She had the codes for the other bombs. Did she have the codes for this one too?

“Just how much damage could we be looking at here?” Kane asked. There were no vestiges of doubt left, only an aura of worry beginning to fill the room.

That was the main question left on everyone’s mind. Nuclear bombs were devastating enough, but much of what had doomed their ancestors was fallout and direct damage to the world’s nuclear power plants. The latter would no longer be a problem.

“That depends on where it was detonated,” Raven said. “There’s never been a five-core reactor used as a bomb to my knowledge. Testing that kind of weapon anywhere other than space would have been tremendously irresponsible.”

“You’re the best expert we have, Raven,” Kane said. “I understand your limitations, but is there any way you could give a prediction? At least an educated guess, so we have something to go off of?”

Raven took a deep breath, looking queasy yet again. The response made Clarke think that maybe she already _had_ made an educated guess, and that Raven was simply hoping and wishing that she were wrong.

“Each core reacts in sequence. The uranium in the first core undergoes a fission reaction, releasing an enormous surge of thermal energy that is used to fuel the reaction of the second,” Raven said, returning to her diagram. “Increasing the number of cores exponentially increases the amount of total energy released. The most cores in a reactor I’ve ever heard of—at least before now—was three. At these levels, reactors start to deviate from traditional predictive models.

“If it were detonated in the exosphere, there’s no model for how far the effects would reach. I would _guess_ at least a quarter of the earth would be thrown into electromagnetic silence—no radios, no infrared remotes, and no electricity.”

Basically, how the grounders had been living for a hundred years.

Mount Weather would lose its power, communications, and even the locks to keep out their enemies. They would be sitting ducks, and the Ark would fare no better.

“And what if it were detonated on the ground?” Kane pressed her. Of the two options, this was more likely, but it was also the more worrisome for everyone else.

“We would need to concern ourselves with several factors: the fireball, air blasts, thermal radiation, and ionizing radiation. Sublette’s formula can give something of an idea, but again—these are just predictions,” Raven reminded them. “Judging from the amount of enriched uranium stored within these cores, I can estimate the total blast energy to equal about a hundred thousand megatons of TNT. For reference, that’s about two thousand times the destructive power contained in the Tsar Bomba, which to this date was officially the largest nuclear weapon in history ever detonated.”

She had every person listening with rapt attention, despite the nervous knots that were probably forming in most of their stomachs. Nobody dared interrupt her.

“The fireball from this explosion could create a crater with a forty-five mile radius,” Raven went on. “The first air blast would be enough to collapse all buildings except concrete, and it would extend for two hundred miles in every direction. The second air blast would come shortly after, and even though this is smaller, it is universally fatal. It would flatten everything above ground within a seventy-five mile radius. Thermal radiation from the blast could cause second and third degree burns as far as eight hundred miles away.

“But perhaps the most worrisome result would be the fallout. Fatal doses of gamma and beta radiation might only extend within twenty miles of the blast, but after a hit this size—contaminated debris, dust, dirt—all of it would be thrust airborne, and the contaminants could be carried by the wind hundreds, if not thousands of miles from the original blast site.”

The explosion would be devastating enough, but anyone downwind from the explosion would be feeling the effects for years if they lived long enough. Clarke was thankful that the bomb hadn’t been used in the first war a hundred years ago. If it had, no grounders would have survived the first cataclysm.

While everyone else was busy digesting the news, Lexa passed a concerned glance her way. Clarke tried her best to offer a reassuring expression in return, but all she managed was a pained grimace.

“This thing can’t be allowed to go off,” Clarke said rather unnecessarily. Raven’s strained look clearly said _, No shit, genius_ , but to her relief she didn’t say it out loud.

“What would you have us do?” Lexa asked evenly.

“ALIE still exists, and according to Murphy, she has launch codes. We have to assume that includes this one too,” Clarke said, gaining some confidence. “We need to get that bomb away from her, and out of her control before she sets it off. If she does, _all_ of us—” she paused, glancing to the leaders situated on either side, “—are going to lose.”

Luna provided her older and wizened addition to the conversation: “I agree with Clarke. We should also keep in mind that we are discussing land beyond the Dead Zone. The nomads living there have come from every one of our clans, and they certainly have no love to spare for the leaders who ousted them. If they have heard of a weapon they could use against us, they may be seeking it too.”

Murmurs of assent followed Luna’s suggestion, and Clarke sent an appreciative glance to her side of the table. By offering yet another reason to stick together, Luna had just made Clarke’s job that much easier.

The threat was real enough. If they didn’t act, everyone was at risk. The uncertain looks gave way to softer glances across the table, no longer marred by distrust or outright contempt. It wasn’t perfect harmony, but who expected it to be? She would have settled for an uneasy truce, at least.

And before the next person spoke up, Clarke was nearly certain she would have achieved it.

“For the sake of argument, let’s say that we all find a way to set aside our differences and locate this weapon together.” Nia challenged, reclining back into her chair, almost gloating. “Who exactly are we to entrust to its possession to? I look across from me and see nobody that I would feel comfortable holding a weapon of that magnitude.” She leered across the table and smirked at the way her comments caused the leaders in the coalition to simmer with rage.

“Nobody is talking about holding it,” Clarke corrected. “We should be getting rid of it altogether.”

Nia turned her icy glare toward Clarke. “And are you—the legendary _Wanheda_ —going to be responsible for dismantling this bomb?”

Clarke hesitated, but Raven answered for her.

“Dismantling it is out of the question. All of us have increased tolerance for radiation, but the kind of exposure after opening that warhead wouldn’t be safe for anybody,” Raven said. “The surest, safest way to get rid of it would to drop it so deep in the ocean that even our great-great-grandchildren won’t even be able to find it.”

Nia wasn’t one to be placated so easily. “And just who of us would be responsible for taking it to the depths of the sea?”

“I would volunteer one of my finest ships and crew,” Luna offered. “As far as I know, none of the other clans owns a vessel large enough to accommodate a weapon of this size.”

Nia smirked, and it filled Clarke with an awful sense of foreboding. “And how _convenient_ is it that your ties to the Commander run so deeply. If we follow that logic, is it not a reasonable conclusion that this weapon would essentially be under the Commander’s control?” Nia turned her stare toward Lexa, who kept her jaw stern and chin high. “A leader who is clearly untrustworthy at best, and at worst, could be accused of treason?”

Lexa’s hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and Clarke feared that if she dug her fingers any deeper into her palms, she might break them. Her green eyes gleamed hard, fiery and dangerous.

“Treason?” she scoffed, though Clarke could tell that underneath she was still seething. “That is quite the statement, coming from someone who has recently committed enough treason to cover an entire city in blood.”

“I have to think of _my_ people’s safety because clearly their Commander has neglected it. Was that not a part of our agreement when Azgedakru first joined the coalition?”

Nia knew she hit a nerve when Lexa flinched, almost imperceptibly. Confused whispers flittered across the room. Clarke didn’t know what transpired, and not many others in the coalition were privy to the details either, it seemed. The only ones who were unsurprised were Indra and Luna, which Clarke should have expected.

The rest of the leaders watched with rapt attention. Some, notably Kane, glanced fearfully between the two women, who were increasingly liable to rip each others’ throats out in the middle of the control room if there weren’t a table to physically separate them.

“Speak plainly, or I will ensure that you won’t be able to speak again,” Lexa said, her voice cutting like steel.

The words would have made any other clan leader cower in their seats, but not Nia. She smiled sickly sweet—the look of someone who was bursting to unleash the next weapon from her arsenal.

“I have recently come by some interesting information,” Nia said innocently. “Do you recall the requests you sent to the clans for delegates before marching our armies upon Mount Weather? How you gathered all generals to Tondc?”

Clarke went rigid, her heart stood still, caught high in her throat. Everybody was too transfixed on Nia’s story to notice her reaction. Indra shifted in her chair but didn’t dare pass a glance in her direction, for which Clarke was grateful.

Lexa kept her chin high, and her face shrouded in a haughty indifference. She exuded power, but that didn’t stop Nia from interpreting her silence as tacit acknowledgment.

“I offered my two finest generals to assist with your coalition meetings,” Nia continued. “They sent me daily updates on the state of affairs. Do you remember them?” She got no response, so she added: “You should. Their tent was right next to your own.

“After I heard of the devastation, I admittedly never gave much thought to how it had happened—it seemed irrelevant. That is, until I heard from several survivors that you had already retired to your quarters for the evening. Imagine my surprise then—Atohl and Enar both consumed by the fire, and yet you did not even suffer so much as a scratch. My suspicions only increased after I heard rumors that you were spotted running from the village only moments before the attack. Almost as if you knew what was coming.”

Clarke held her breath because s _he_ was the reason nobody else escaped. Abby had figured it out within seconds. Indra had also suspected Clarke’s role. But this was before she was known Wanheda. At the time, Clarke might have slipped beneath the other clans’ notice.

If they realized it was Clarke’s responsibility now, she would likely have twelve clans ready to revolt against her, and she had no army to defend her. Abby sensed the same danger behind Nia’s accusation. She found Clarke’s hand beneath the table and squeezed it hard, out of sight from the others.

When Nia put it that way, the charges against her were damning.

Lexa’s deal with the enemy to retreat at the mountain had already triggered an insurrection. If she was accused of making another deal with them by sacrificing Tondc…

Lexa could at least partially absolve herself if she implicated Clarke. After all, it was Clarke who made the decision to run to her tent in the dead of night, not telling another soul in the village. Not even her mother or Kane. The Mountain Men were dead, so Lexa still had considerable support in the alliance. Her support might wane dangerously if she _didn_ _’t_ disclose Clarke’s involvement.

“I had reason to believe we would be attacked,” Lexa admitted coolly, and Clarke couldn’t tell if she or her mother were squeezing harder underneath the table. “And if the village had been evacuated, we would have only lost more lives in the long run. We had favorable position on the inside of the mountain. It was the best decision based on the information available at the moment.”

“So you admit that you knowingly abandoned those people to slaughter?”

“People die in war,” Lexa spat through gritted teeth. “If I ordered an evacuation of Tondc, you would have lost more than just two of your generals. If you can’t see that, you are either blind or deliberately obtuse.”

Clarke’s bunched muscles relaxed, and she let out the massive breath she’d been holding. For a moment, she simply stared at Lexa, who was still carrying herself with such unflinching strength that it was hard to tear her eyes away.

But eventually Clarke did, and she saw that many of the other leaders appeared shaken by the news.

Lexa’s rationale didn’t matter to many of them. Just the revelation that she’d known, that she remained silent, that their people’s lives were measured like weights on a scale was enough to give them pause. And as unfair as it was—and Clarke knew firsthand how unfair it was—it _hurt_ them. The guilt had eaten away at Clarke’s insides for months—it still did _._

“You all have heard this acknowledgment,” Nia announced to the leaders around the room, her voice now booming with authority. “I can only speak to Azgedakru’s deal with the Commander. ‘Protection for our people at all costs.’ That was our agreement, and she has admitted to breaking it. If this weapon is as deadly as we’ve heard, is _this_ really the person we should trust with its fate?”

Nobody answered out loud, but there were some who were reevaluating their loyalties. A seed had been planted and if left in the right conditions, could eventually grow into disaster.

“We face a grave threat. We all should demand that whoever is responsible to eliminate it is worthy of that responsibility. Just because the Commander considers herself above you, doesn’t mean that you should have no say.” Nia sounded positively gleeful when she added, “That is why I motion for a vote of no confidence.”

The comments sparked a clamor among the leaders, but Clarke couldn’t tell if that mostly in support or outrage. She’d learned enough clan history from Luna to know that nothing like what Nia proposed had happened since their civilization started.

Nia couldn’t formally strip Lexa’s title from her without eliminating the Conclave and killing her, but this was a significant blow nonetheless. If the clans agreed that Lexa shouldn’t be involved in the task force to get this weapon, the alliance would be wandering lost without its leader.

“If not the Commander, then who?” someone asked. The voice came from the coalition side, but Clarke didn’t see who it was.

Everyone looked toward Nia, who’d been expecting the question and was ready and waiting with her answer.

“This problem affects all of us. Each clan should nominate their most worthy candidate, and we will reconvene soon to select our leader in this most crucial task,” Nia said gravely, belying the sparkle of excitement hidden behind her light blue eyes. “On the next full moon, we will decide. It’s only fitting that this meeting should occur in Polis. That is, with the Commander’s permission.” The upward inflection at the end of her statement implied a question.

 It was presumptuous for Nia to call for an assembly at the capital, so Lexa’s answering tone was stiff, bordering on the edge of hostility. “If everyone is agreeable, I shouldn’t see why not.”

“Excellent. Polis is such a wonderful city—such hospitality.” And then, staring right at Lexa: “I’ve been looking forward to returning. I’ll admit I rather enjoyed my last visit.”

The temperature in the room felt like it instantly rose ten degrees. Luna shook her head disapprovingly at the comment, and even Titus—who Clarke thought would have reveled in Lexa’s pain—looked deeply uncomfortable, as if some unseen line had just been crossed.

Lexa, who’d done an impeccable job at tempering her reactions to Nia’s baiting, finally reached her limit. She stood abruptly from her chair and slammed her palms against the table. The control room fell deathly silent.

“That is _enough_. This meeting is over.”

The coalition leaders, confused and shaken by the information they’d heard, talked hurriedly amongst themselves. They had no further reason to stay at Camp Jaha. The rebels on the other hand, seemed comfortable here.

Lexa made a hasty exit, and nobody stopped her.

With a few well chosen words, something in the power balance shifted, and Clarke wasn’t sure she liked it. After a moment, she left the control room also, heading not toward the entrance tunnel but toward the armory. She slipped inside the room, pocketing several clips for her handgun and sifting through a pile of refilled magazines to find one that would match her rifle.

Someone pulled at her arm while she was frantically searching, and Clarke whirled around, expecting for one of the guards to be telling her off.

Instead it was Octavia, looking frantic and worried. She hadn’t been invited to the select meeting ( _Lucky her_ , Clarke thought), but she’d known it was taking place. She’d probably been hanging around the control room doors the entire time, hoping to hear any bits of conversation from inside without the guards noticing.

“Clarke, what the hell is going on?” Octavia urged. “Remy and Beorn just walked out looking like they were about to piss themselves, and nobody’s saying a word about what happened in there.”

Clarke found another handgun, slid a fresh clip into the handle, and shoved it into Octavia’s chest. Her friend took it from her gingerly, not altogether comfortable fighting with guns since her training with Trikru.

“The bomb’s real,” Clarke said, and then, moving onto the next most pressing issue, “and now all of the clans know about Tondc. After what happened in there, I’m not optimistic about all of them staying in the alliance.”

Octavia’s eyes grew wide. She’d been one of Clarke’s main critics after her decision to let Tondc burn, but even she could admit the predicament that airing the secret could—and likely _would_ —cause.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Octavia asked fearfully.

Clarke was so preoccupied with the bomb and the coalition potentially falling apart that she almost forgot why Octavia might have thought she’d be in danger. Not too long ago, Octavia had threatened to expose Clarke’s role in the attack. The danger of being implicated was not lost on either of them.

“I’ll be fine,” Clarke assured her. “It might have been stupid on her part, but Lexa actually covered for me.”

Octavia blinked several times, clearly wondering if she’d heard correctly. Shock registered first, then disbelief, then to Clarke’s surprise, Octavia actually seemed impressed.

The pair left the armory together, heading toward the Ark’s exit. Before they reached the open tunnel, Bellamy stopped them in the hallway. The rebel leaders and Kane were nowhere to be found, and Clarke suspected that he’d snuck away specifically to find them. He stood in the middle of the corridor, blocking their passage.

“Where are you going?” he asked them.

“We’re leaving,” Clarke answered. “You need to move out of my way, Bellamy. Now.”

“Clarke, listen. It doesn’t have to be this way,” he implored her. “Please, _stay_. The Sky People have influence now. If you both stayed it wouldn’t be like it was before.”

Octavia rolled her eyes hugely. “Do you actually realize how full of shit you sound?”

Bellamy shot her an exasperated glare before turning hopeful eyes back toward Clarke.

There might have been a time when that offer would have been appealing. Returning to Camp Jaha, being part of an established society that was powerful enough to deter enemies from attack. Being able to live a calm, peaceful life. She’d since realized those dreams could only be rooted in fantasy.

“Skaikru will always be my people, Bellamy,” Clarke said slowly, with a finality that weighed heavily on her shoulders. “But this place will never be home for me again.”

He didn’t move, and Clarke tried to ignore the crestfallen look on his face as she pushed past him, Octavia following closely behind her. He was either too shocked or too hurt to turn and look after them as they left.

By the time Clarke reached the gate, most of the leaders were already mounted on their horses and preparing to leave. They would waste no time getting out of Skaikru territory, who they now understood to be their enemy.

Lexa was one of the few who hadn’t mounted her horse. She stood by Luna, whispering an urgent message into her ear. Clarke could tell by the stern expression on their faces that it was no social conversation. Lexa was still visibly reeling. When Clarke approached, they put a hurried end to their conversation and separated.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked.

“I’m taking my generals back to Floudonkru,” Luna said, her voice devoid the warmth that Clarke had grown used to for the past two months.

“Good. Let me go get Raine, and I’ll come with you.”

Luna shook her head. “Not this time, Clarke. I have matters to attend to with my people. There is much work to be done, and not much time to do it. I can’t afford to have them distracted by your presence.”

Clarke’s took a step backward, and her jaw slackened, hurt by the rejection. She’d come to like Luna, to trust her. Luna valued her presence enough to let Clarke accompany them on this mission, and she didn’t understand why she wasn’t being allowed back now.

Unless it wasn’t Luna’s decision. Clarke glared suspiciously at Lexa.

“What about me?” Octavia chimed in from behind Clarke. “I have to go back for…” she trailed off, not daring to speak Lincoln’s name in front of the Commander.

He’d managed to stay out of sight since Indra and Lexa had come to Floudonkru, and Octavia wouldn’t give up his whereabouts with a careless slip of the tongue.

Clarke was still surprised when Luna agreed to Octavia’s request, which quickly turned to irritation. Her denial seemed even more like a betrayal now that she’d allowed her friend to return.

Luna could feel Clarke’s resentment, and she gave her an apologetic look. “I promise you, it’s nothing personal, Clarke. Before this is over, I will see you again.”

Her attention was momentarily diverted when Octavia crept up from around her side and threw her arms around Clarke’s neck, hugging her hard. After the initial surprise, Clarke wound her arms around her waist and squeezed in return. When they separated, Octavia rested a hand against Clarke’s shoulder.

“May we meet again,” Octavia said, giving Clarke a sly smirk. The simple gesture somehow felt like it rebalanced the order in the world.

Octavia scampered to her horse and skillfully climbed atop the saddle in one fluid movement. She kicked at its flanks, and the horse took off to join the growing group of riders congregated outside the gates. After taking back Raine, Luna rode to join her.

Then it was just Clarke and Lexa waiting beside the gates. Lexa tended to her own horse beside her, and Clarke finally allowed the question she’d been pondering bubble to the surface.

“What did you tell her?” she snapped.

Lexa focused on securing her meager personal belongings to the saddle and didn’t even bother looking up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Clarke stepped forward, folding her arms across her chest and putting herself close enough that Lexa could no longer ignore her.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You and Luna are having an intense conversation, and then all of a sudden, I’m not allowed to go back to the Boat Clan? You must think I’m a moron if you seriously thought I wouldn’t suspect you had something to do with it.”

“I know you far too well to ever think you a moron,” Lexa said. “If you must know, I was giving her an order. One leader to another. Rest assured, it had nothing to with banning your return.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “I bet it had a lot to do with making sure I went to Polis instead.”

“I’m not your keeper, Clarke. Wherever it is you decide to spend your time is none of my business. If you would like to go to Polis, there would be a room waiting for you. If you would rather stay here with your _friends_ ,” her voice lilted into almost a sneer, “I would not stop you—no matter how misguided your decision would be.”

“So much for it being none of your business,” Clarke muttered.

“You should try to see things as they are, and not dismiss what they are doing out of misplaced anger towards me,” Lexa shot back at her. “Your friends are busy ingratiating themselves with someone they don’t understand. Bellamy is going to get them killed.”

Lexa had never payed any mind to what fate befell Skaikru. With the exception of a few in their camp, Clarke wondered if she would’ve even blinked if Camp Jaha was swallowed up by a giant sinkhole and never heard from again. Her fervor now was strange, and a thought suddenly occurred to Clarke.

“Just admit what this is really about, Lexa. You’ve never liked Bellamy,” Clarke accused her. This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Lexa’s hands fell from her horse’s saddle, and she rounded on Clarke, stepping close—too close—into her personal space and completely disarming her. Clarke could see each tiny specks of light reflecting off her eyes. She went rigid, pulse racing faster, and her head slightly spinning.

“Don’t accuse me of making this a personal matter. I don’t let my emotions interfere with my leadership,” Lexa said in a low, dangerous tone. “Your people are blinded by their hate, and they’re ruled by their fears.”

Somehow, Clarke found enough breath in her lungs to speak. “And who do you think is to blame for that?”

“I mean your people no more harm today than I did the moment I accepted them into our alliance. But if they continue down this road they’re on, they’ll pay for their mistakes with many lives.”

“Is that a threat?”

Lexa shook her head, their faces now only inches apart. “That is the truth. Our world sits on a knife’s edge, and the Sky People are falling to the wrong side.”

She backed away from Clarke and quickly stepped up into the saddle, swinging her leg across the other side. She glanced once more at Clarke before kicking the horse into a trot and leaving her standing alone.

Clarke awkwardly glanced around, finding none of the grounders from the coalition left around her. Not Igor, not Beorn, not Remy… They’d all taken off already. Her gaze landed upon the entrance, where one last grounder still stood, watching her curiously.

Nia.

She’d seen her entire exchange with Lexa and didn’t seem the slightest bit ashamed at having been caught staring. She gave Clarke a smirk, and it cause a shiver to run over her skin.

“I’m coming with you,” a voice called out behind her—her mother. Abby had used the few minutes after the meeting’s disastrous ending to run to her quarters and throw a few items into a bag.

“Don’t you have stuff to do in medical?” Clarke asked.

“Jackson can take care of it,” Abby said. Clarke considered asking her to stay until the summit, but when Abby added, “I can’t lose you again,” she was forced to relent.

There were just two horses left at the gates. Now that Clarke wouldn’t have her former horse, she would have to take one of the others. She showed her mother to the one who seemed calmer, and claimed the more energetic mount for herself.

Kane arrived not long behind Abby, slightly out of breath from his jog across the camp. He wasn’t surprised by Abby’s decision to leave, and Clarke wondered if her mother gave him an ultimatum before the meeting.

“Clarke, before you leave—know this. As long as I’m chancellor, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep us from going into a war,” Kane said, looking up to where she was already seated in the saddle. “Please make sure the Commander knows that.”

Clarke looked suspiciously toward her mother, who was waiting with a mischievous grin. It looked like she’d really gotten the message through to him after all.

“I’ll tell her,” Clarke said, and Kane looked relieved.

He uttered quick goodbyes to both of them, with a promise to see them in two weeks. When Clarke arrived to the grounders leading Abby behind her, they looked at each other incredulously, but none of them said a word against it.

They set off together from the field surrounding the Ark, Lexa at the front of the formation, as always. As their group spread through the forest to avoid the dense trees, Clarke found herself riding next to Indra. The general turned up her nose at the sight of Clarke, and she suspected it had something to do with Lexa taking the full blame for Tondc, which in a way, Clarke understood.

She couldn’t fathom why Lexa would have done that. Lexa didn’t make leadership decisions lightly. If her taking the blame weakened the alliance, Clarke wouldn’t have expected Lexa to protect her. But she did so anyway, and now Indra apparently resented her for it.

A question had been lurking in the recesses of Clarke’s mind after witnessing Lexa’s exaggerated reaction at the end of the meeting. Luna seemed to know what was going on, as did Indra and Titus. Clarke didn’t dare ask Lexa after her reaction in the control room.

“Indra, what happened last time the Ice Queen was in Polis?” Clarke asked hesitantly once the two of them were sufficiently separated from the others.

Indra startled; there wasn’t much conversation after the heavy meeting, and Clarke was the last person she expected to strike up a conversation with her. Indra let out a frustrated huff and looked forward into the woods ahead of them.

Clarke was certain she wouldn’t get an answer, but then—

“The last time the queen was in Polis, Costia was captured,” Indra said, devoid of any emotion.

Clarke didn’t respond, didn’t even know _how_ to respond. She sat silently in her saddle and processed the information. She recalled the story Lexa told her months ago, though she’d been more caught up in her own grief at the time.

Indra pulled her horse out front, and in the distance, Clarke could see her rejoining with Lexa. Perhaps it was for the best.

Abby rode up in the space Indra vacated, giving Clarke a soft smile, but Clarke’s attention was drawn to the long piece of hand-woven rope looped over the rear of the saddle. The intricate braids were familiar.

When they left Camp Jaha, Clarke was too preoccupied to realize that only reason Abby didn’t have to share a horse was if someone decided not to return. Their number was so big that one of the lesser generals could have slipped away without anyone’s immediate notice.

But as she glimpsed at her mother’s horse, Clarke was sure she knew exactly who had stayed back at the Ark.

It was Pike.

 


	9. Usurp and Destroy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Nico for her excellent beta work. Couldn't have done it without you!

Bellamy took another ferocious swipe at the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in one of the Ark’s training rooms. Once upon a time, he’d taken lessons on Earth skills here, but now, it was the only place left where he could vent his frustration.

The thin wrap over his knuckles did little to soften the blows as he struck them over and over against the heavy canvas. The pain vibrated into his bones and muscles, and he loved it for the way it allowed him to focus into his anger and release his feelings.

Octavia and Clarke had left camp. Again. He had tried to sway their return by making Skaikru stronger and making new allies, which they hadn’t had in months. In the end, nothing he’d done seemed like it mattered. They were gone. His sister—his _life_ —as well as his best friend.

As if that hadn’t been a big enough blow, Kane told him this morning that he was calling off the treaty talks between them and the visiting clan leaders. All his work to get the Sky People allies on the ground, vanished in minutes.

When he’d told Echo the news barely two hours ago, she was so disappointed that Bellamy felt as if something else had broken inside him too. They’d nearly kissed before the enemy’s guard showed up, and while he had no idea where their relationship stood, the premature loss of whatever they might have eventually been stung him to the core. It was just another piece of his life that continued unraveling before his eyes.

Bellamy fired off a several quick jabs, dancing lightly on his feet while the bag swayed from the impact. He lifted his fists into a striking position, ready to spar away his troubles again.

While the rest of the grounders went off to search for a bomb that could end their entire existence, Kane wanted them to stand down. Wait it out and simply _hope_ that it didn’t end up in the wrong hands. Bellamy liked Kane, respected him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the chancellor was wrong about this, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

Bellamy pulled his fist back and threw a punch into the bag so hard that he felt the skin over his knuckles split.

“You’re gonna break somethin’ if you don’t cover up those hands,” a deep, unfamiliar voice sounded behind him.

Bellamy steadied the heavy bag before turning around, his breaths coming fast and hard from exertion. There were no lights by the doorway, and he only saw a stocky silhouette leaning against the post. Bellamy wiped the sweat from his brow on the sleeve of his shirt.

“It’s not like I’m going to need them for anything anytime soon,” Bellamy said. He squinted to see the dark figure more closely but couldn’t recognize his visitor at the opposite end of the room, which surprised him. He thought he knew most people from the Ark. “Who are you, by the way?”

The man strode forward into the lit room. Bellamy vaguely recognized him from the meeting yesterday, but he stiffened when he remembered that the man also sat on the opposite side of the room with the old coalition. He’d worn their forest clothes, and now he wore one of the Ark’s guard uniforms with plated armor stretched tightly across his broad chest. His demeanor was intimidating despite his slight height disadvantage.

“The name’s Pike,” he introduced himself jovially. “Pike Bradbury.”

The name didn’t spark any memories. Grounders never introduced themselves with last names, so Bellamy suspected he either wasn’t a member of a clan, or he was lying to cover himself.

“Bellamy Blake.” His response was more guarded.

“Blake…” Pike narrowed his eyes. “Any relation to Aurora Blake?”

“She was my mother,” Bellamy said, regarding Pike more carefully. Even if he wasn’t a Sky Person, it still didn’t explain why he’d been with the grounders. Octavia, Lincoln, and Clarke were the only ones to leave Camp Jaha. Where had he come from, and how had he slipped past everyone’s notice after the meeting? “How did you know her?”

“I met her once back on Alpha Station. We’d only recently installed the temporary passageways connecting the stations, and the permanent tunnels were still being built. She was a nice woman. I’m sad she didn’t make it down.”

Bellamy was old enough to remember when all the stations were first physically brought together. It allowed for faster and easier sharing of supplies between the ships and less worry about collisions while in orbit. The proposal had been introduced when the various supply shortages started, and the merger was supposed to have bought them at least a hundred more years in space. Like seemingly every other plan they’d had, it went up in flames from the onset.

The temporary tunnels connecting the stations weren’t exactly vetted for safety, but they were necessary for communications and power sharing while the reinforced permanent tunnels were going up around them. His mother instructed him to stay away, but Bellamy was nine years old, and playing inside them with his friends had been the most exciting adventure in the world. His mother had scolded him harshly, and he wasn’t allowed out of their pod for a week.

“If you’re really from the Ark, then why weren’t you at camp before?” Bellamy asked.

“I’ve been here a lot longer than you have, kid. Fifteen years.” His statement was met with bewilderment. “I was station thirteen’s director of operations.”

“How—?” Bellamy blinked. “Station thirteen got blown up. I remember hearing about it when I was ten.”

“An explosion? That’s what that idiot Jaha was selling you?” Pike chuckled darkly. “Sound don’t travel through space, son. You actually _see_ it happen?”

The question gave Bellamy pause because in retrospect, he _hadn_ _’t_ seen the explosion, nor had he met anyone who did. Chancellor Jaha made the announcement on the Ark’s new shared communication system, and that was supposedly the end of the matter. But unless Pike was lying, his presence on Earth proved otherwise.

“Let’s say for a minute that I believe you,” Bellamy asked, regarding the stranger suspiciously. “Why were you with the grounders yesterday?”

“Fair question,” Pike allowed. “We ran into a bit of trouble up north with Azgeda—wouldn’t be the first time that happened. Clarke helped us out in a pinch, and took us south. For the past two months, we were staying with one of their clans.”

“And the rest of your station?”

“They went and made nice with the grounders.” His expression grew more severe. “There aren’t many of us left. You’d think after fifteen years they woulda’ learned.”

“What’s your beef with the Ice Nation?”

Pike stiffened. “Their queen massacred us for landin’ on their southern border. Most of my people got killed. I got about as much love for the Ice Queen as I do for Jaha, Kane, and Sydney.”

“Diana Sydney’s dead,” Bellamy said. “She and two hundred of her supporters stole the Exodus ship and crashed it about twenty miles from here.”

“Well, good riddance.” Pike nodded appreciatively.

Bellamy hadn’t known Diana Sydney well enough to be particularly upset over her death. She held her position when he was young and clueless about politics. Pike seemed to feel similarly about Jaha and Kane, which surprised him. The two of them had, for the most part, led the Arkers admirably since they’d been on the ground.

“We were trying to recruit the Ice Nation as allies,” Bellamy said.

Pike whistled disbelievingly, the sound giving way to a throaty chuckle. “Good luck with that, son. The Ice Queen don’t _do_ alliances.”

“She’s got one with the River Clan and the Mountain Clan. She wanted one with Skaikru.”

“Like I said,” all hints of amusement faded from Pike’s voice, “I been here a lot longer than you. There wasn’t a twelve clan grounder alliance when we landed. When the grounders were off building their new empire, there’s a reason they waited to conquer Azgeda last. I don’t believe for a second that the queen woulda’ agreed to it if all the other clans hadn’t banded against her. She’s too unpredictable to be a useful ally. She’s got an agenda.”

“So what? You agree that they’re the most powerful clan, and yet you’re saying that we should just spit in their faces when they’re offering us safety?” Bellamy scoffed, “You sound just like _Kane_.”

“Unlike Marcus Kane, I actually have a _spine_ ,” Pike sneered. He stepped closer toward Bellamy and set his brow in a hard line. “I know a lot more about what it takes to survive down here than Marcus. Trust me—if you could get Azgeda’s armies on our side, the Sky People would be practically invincible.”

“I thought you said nobody could trust them,” Bellamy challenged.

“I said you couldn’t trust their _queen_ ,” Pike corrected. “Subtle difference.”

“Their armies are no good to us without their queen for them to follow.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure what to make of Nia yet. She was cold and intimidating, but her displeasure for the Commander was definitely genuine, which suited his tastes perfectly.

Pike evaded giving a direct answer and flashed a mischievous grin.“Yeah, well… After it’s all said and done, who says the queen should _keep_ her throne?”

Bellamy stepped back, eying Pike warily. Bellamy was under no childish delusions that he was talking about merely banishing her from the territory. He meant to assassinate her after they waged war together and emerged victorious.

“After all the bloodshed we’ve seen, it would be simple,” Pike continued. “Take one more life, and a new alliance could last for generations.”

 _One more life_. Bellamy knew how easily one life turned to fifty, a hundred, if not more. He liked Echo, and while he was suspicious of some of the highest Azgeda officers, he wouldn’t wish them dead.

“She’s given us no reason to doubt her so far.”

“Listen… You wanna wait until you get your people burned, fine by me,” Pike shrugged. “I’ll try not to say ‘I told you so’ when it happens.”

Bellamy thought for a few moments to himself, backing toward the hanging bag behind him. He’d been burned during his last truce with the grounders. He didn’t have a firm reason to suspect Nia yet—only Pike’s word.

“Hypothetically—let’s say she betrayed us. If we killed her…” Bellamy shook the thought from his head. “Their people would revolt. If they found out we had anything to do with it—”

“They wouldn’t need to find out.”

Even if the queen was as ruthless and unpredictable, Bellamy couldn’t imagine any good coming from her assassination. Nobody could suspect foul play. If they did, Skaikru would be in even more danger than they were before.

Who would take her place? It wasn’t like the Ice Nation’s vast armies would take orders from Kane or any other Sky Person. They would only take orders from one of their own.

Pike predictably had an answer already waiting for Bellamy’s unspoken question. “We could appoint one of their people,” he continued. “Someone they trusted, but someone _we_ could trust too.”

“Like who?” He raised an eyebrow at Pike.

“That girl who was sitting next to you—who was that?”

Bellamy frowned. He’d only had Kane flanking his left side, and then… “Echo?”

“She helped Sky People people out of a tight spot a long time ago. Probably the only reason any of us from thirteen are still alive,” Pike explained. “It took me a while to recognize her, but I’m sure of it now. You don’t forget the face of the person that saved you, no matter how old they are. If she was important enough to be in that control room, the Ice Nation respects her. They should have no problem with her taking over as queen, especially if it comes with our continued alliance.”

Bellamy allowed himself to imagine briefly: a combined nation between the territories of Azgeda, Camp Jaha, and Mount Weather. Someplace strong enough to deter attack, yet with people who could finally live harmoniously with one another. Once the other clans saw the way they lived, others would join them. Everyone could free themselves from living under the Commander’s thumb.

He briefly indulged the fantasy of living out that dream with Echo at his side, a confluence of their people, with himself as one of Skaikru’s top council members. Once Octavia and Clarke came back, it would be perfect.

There was only one problem with the plan. “Kane would never go for it,” Bellamy pointed out, shaking his head.

“Use your head, kid. Who’s keepin’ Kane in charge?”

“He was elected to the council. Since Jaha left, he’s been—”

“That’s exactly my point,” Pike interrupted. “Our people’s voices are heard through democracy. The _people_ chose him to represent their interests. And what do the _people_ want now?”

Bellamy knew what they wanted. After his talk with Kane this morning he’d been tasked with telling the rest of the guards to stand down while their visiting guests were preparing to leave. They’d been blindsided by the decision. Every person he’d spoken to was looking forward to their new deal, sharing defenses against the much greater threat of the old alliance. But so far, the only solution Pike offered for removing leaders from their positions was by assassination.

“We’re not killing Kane,” Bellamy said sternly.

“Trust me, I don’t need to. Before he started pretending to be the Ark’s golden boy, I could tell you stories about Marcus Kane that’d make your skin crawl,” Pike said with a sinister glint in his eyes. “Gimme five minutes with the guard, and I’d have ‘em ready to drag him out of that office by his ear.”

It was only Bellamy’s enduring loyalty to Kane that kept him from jumping headfirst at the opportunity.

The idea was appealing enough; he’d long since resigned himself to the notion that war was unavoidable and some lives had to be sacrificed in the quest for survival. Compared to the atrocities they’d already committed, was assassinating a single leader such a monstrous offense?

Bellamy wasn’t sure anymore, but he wasn’t willing to cast aside Kane’s friendship in favor of someone he’d just met and whose motives he didn’t entirely understand. He thought Kane was misguided in his efforts, but Bellamy trusted that he was at least doing what he thought was right. Pike was an unknown entity.

“That little one’s your sister ain’t she? Clarke’s friend, Octavia?” Pike asked moments later, the brusqueness fading from his voice. Bellamy’s head snapped up toward him, stunned. “Believe it or not, I understand. Fifteen years I was helpless to save my people. The Ice Queen raided us, captured us, drove us into the wilderness and left us to die. My only regret was that I had no way to help ‘em. You’ve got a chance to do that here—if you act. Give everyone a life they can look forward to once the smoke clears.”

“Why me?” Bellamy’s voice sounded uncertain.

“Because you been here with them through the thick and the thin. When it got rough, you took care of ‘em. I see the way they look up to you. Trust me, I’d take charge myself if I could, but most of the people here ain’t seen me in years.” Pike chuckled softly before growing serious again. “But if you want, I’ll be your right-hand man.”

Bellamy considered him for a moment. He searched Pike for any signs of deceit, but his eyes were sincere, and his resolution was strong. Pike clearly believed every word he’d said.

“Octavia and Clarke,” Bellamy said, enunciating every syllable so there would be no mistaking his words. “No matter what happens, they aren’t to be harmed, am I understood?”

“Loud n’ clear. Any sky person livin’ with the grounders gets sanctuary,” Pike agreed. “They were— _are_ —my friends too.”

“The Azgeda leaders are going to be leaving camp soon.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” Pike concluded. “So what do you say—are you in, or not?”

Pike extended his broad hand in front of him, an offer to either take the deal or abandon the idea altogether. The unknown possibilities awaiting if Bellamy took his hand were worrisome, but the vision of Camp Jaha overrun and at the mercy of their enemies was too distressing to ignore.

He reached out and gripped Pike’s outstretched hand firmly. The pressure caused a sharp pain to radiate across his knuckles, and he tried his best not to wince when Pike squeezed back.

“Deal,” Bellamy said. “We need to get the guard behind us before we present the offer to the Ice Nation.”

Pike grinned. “I’ll meet you outside in fifteen minutes.”

The next quarter hour passed in a blur. Bellamy excused himself to his pod to wash his face and change into a clean shirt. By the time, he came out, the Ark’s interior was completely deserted. Even the orderlies that usually roamed the corridors at all hours of the day and night were missing.

All was quiet as he left his pod, and the strike of his boots against the floor echoed down the abandoned hall.

That all changed as he approached the Ark’s entrance. A booming voice cut through the sounds of a chanting mass, growing louder and clearer with every step. He could make out Pike’s rally to arms and the answering cries of assent. In moments, the guard had cleared their posts to listen, and even the more curious citizens had come to bear witness. They congregated around Pike just outside the gates, and with every word that fell from his mouth, the Arkers fell even more into a frenzy.

Bellamy strode through the entrance in awe of the sight. The sleepy, scared people of the Ark had come alive at Pike’s sudden reappearance. He spotted Kane from the corner of his eye, who’d heard the commotion and came wandering from the far side of the camp.

Pike was not holding back as he dragged Kane’s authority and good name through the mud. He stood on a platform by the gated entrance and spoke candidly of Kane’s misdeeds aboard the Ark.

He yelled about the friends and families he’d had floated during his reign as vice chancellor, the horrors he’d authorized toward the people of station thirteen, and lastly, how the Ark’s council colluded together to keep it all hidden from their people.

The chancellor’s face registered shock, then horror, then indignation.

Bellamy’s attention was diverted when Pike’s voice rang out with his name. He looked up to find Pike staring in his direction and smiling widely, which the growing crowd around him mirrored moments later. Bellamy acknowledged them with a nervous nod, and most of them cheered loudly.

Not Marcus Kane.

When his eyes landed on Bellamy, the chancellor recoiled like someone had just punched him in the gut. He quickly recovered and hurried over to Bellamy’s side, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him away from the frantic crowd.

“What the hell is this about?” Kane hissed at him.

Bellamy ignored the twinge of guilt he felt at his distress. He reminded himself that _he_ was the one who had every right to feel betrayed, not Kane, and a glint of defiance lit in his chest. “What is _what_ about?”

“Pike Bradbury,” Kane sneered, reeling from hurt and anger. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Bellamy’s answering silence said more than words ever could. Kane’s grip on his arm loosened as the realization set in, and Bellamy shrugged away from him. He avoided making eye contact with Kane again, unable to stand the hurt look he knew was there.

“Why…?” Kane started, trailing off to shake his head in disbelief. “Our people deserve peace, Bellamy. This—” he gestured to his side, where Pike continued to talk the crowd into a fury, “—this is the opposite of peace. It’s a call to arms.”

“What we have right now isn’t peace, it’s a holding pattern,” Bellamy shot back. “If we want peace, we can’t sit back and simply _hope_ not to get attacked. We have to earn it first.”

“That’s how you’d advocate for peace? By dragging our people into war?!”

The accusation caused Bellamy’s pent up frustration of the past few months and mistrust of the chancellor’s policies to come rushing to the surface. He fixed Kane with a hard, unforgiving glare, taking a bit of satisfaction at the way the chancellor shrank away from him.

“If that’s what it takes to keep them alive in the meantime, then yes.” Bellamy smirked as Pike brought the crowd to a fever pitch. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“Then you’re going to get us all killed.”

Kane backed away slowly, staring at Bellamy like he didn’t recognize him anymore. When Raven came stumbling from the Ark’s entrance a moment later, they were only two of the few from Camp who were watching the scene before them with abject horror.

By now, many of the initial skeptics had been won over completely.

Pike’s voice carried across the field: “Do you think Marcus Kane cares about anyone of you? He’d have all of you waiting for attackers to arrive at our doorstep. He’d have you stay _weak_.” The first rumblings of mutiny started bleeding through the crowd. “Is this the leader you want to see us through these dangerous times?”

A resounding chorus of “No!” rang heavily through the air.

“Long ago, we agreed that our _people_ should decide together who is best fit for leadership, and that person—is—not—Marcus—Kane!” Pike bellowed, pausing to punctuate every word.

The crowd continued to hang desperately onto his speech. He was a distantly familiar face, but after fifteen years, the people of the Ark almost considered him new blood again. Pike represented the change they sought after, a new face with exciting new ideas that had them utterly fascinated.

With Abby gone, there was nobody left to counter Pike’s argument. And after the scathing stories Pike shared about Kane’s earlier misdeeds, the chancellor was wise not to argue on his own behalf. He’d only make things worse.

“So let us decide!” Pike continued. “All in favor of demanding the chancellor’s resignation?!”

This statement drew the loudest response yet. There was no use in counting the number of people shouting their assent. There were only a handful in the camp who _hadn_ _’t_ answered the call for a change in command. A reprise of “No more Kane!” sparked among his supporters, which escalated to a booming tumult audible through every corner of the Ark.

The muscles in Kane’s jaw twitched beneath his beard as he eyed Pike at the entrance. It was the first time Bellamy had ever seen Kane wear an expression of pure loathing. Whatever else happened in the coming weeks and months, Bellamy was certain that today’s events had just earned Pike an enemy for life.

Kane lifted his hand to the collar of his jacket and pulled off the chancellor’s pin, and with one last disapproving look at Bellamy, cast it to the ground without a single word. The crowd roared their approval, and Bellamy tried to stifle the guilt tugging at his conscience as he watched Kane stalk back into the Ark.

Pike’s smile was wide and his eyes bright with joy when he hopped from the platform and walked over to him.

“What do you say, kid?” Away from the crowd, Pike’s booming voice softened. “Partners?”

Bellamy glanced around the camp at his people celebrating. He’d underestimated just how ready most of them were for a change, and he nodded appreciatively. They’d all gotten what they wanted. “Yeah. Partners.”

Pike slipped away for a moment. When he returned, he had an armored guard jacket clutched in his hand. “I believe this is yours.”

Bellamy accepted the jacket and shrugged his arms inside. “The Ice Nation is going to be leaving soon.”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

“You’re not coming?” Bellamy frowned. When Pike had suggested partnership, he’d expected equal participation.

“I’d rather not face off with their queen just yet. It’s been a while. I don’t think she’d recognize me, but she might not take the deal if she had any suspicions,” Pike explained. A moment later, a thought occurred to him, and he went to retrieve the abandoned chancellor’s pin, attaching it to the collar of Bellamy’s jacket in the same place Kane used to wear it. “That should help you make your case.”

“But, I’m—I’m not—”

“Chancellor?” Pike smirked at his nervousness. “Technically you’re right, but until anyone schedules formal vote, you’re about as close as this place is gonna get, kid. Someone has to take charge in the interim.”

“What about… co-chancellors?” Bellamy offered.

Pike considered him for a several moments, his expression unreadable as he considered Bellamy’s proposal. Eventually, another toothy grin spread across his face.

“I hear you already got a crew stationed at Mount Weather.”

Bellamy nodded. “Nearly two hundred strong as of last week.”

“With your other camp here, I guess havin’ two leaders makes sense then,” Pike said. “Co-chancellors it is.”

Their last handshake was more confident than the first. With Kane’s vacancy, both sides were now fully committed to the plan.

After he endured more back pats, salutes, and high fives than he could count, Bellamy had an extra spring in his step when he stepped away from the celebrations to find Echo. Their camp would be busy making their travel preparations to return home.

He relaxed when rounded the edge of Ark nestled against the base of the mountains and spotted their horses saddled outside the camp. Though the generals mulling about outside easily recognized him from the negotiations of the past couple of weeks, they were surprised by his sudden appearance. They allowed him to pass through the camp without resistance.

Bellamy burst through the entrance of the largest tent, finding Echo, Titus, Knox and Roan huddled around Azgeda’s queen.

“Bellamy?” Echo frowned, confused by his appearance but not unhappy to see him. “Sochu?”

He gave a tiny smile and was slightly out of breath when he said, “We’ve just had a change of guard.”

“And?” Echo sounded hopeful, and behind her, the queen’s eyes grew alight with realization.

“On behalf of Skaikru, our people agree to join your alliance. We want to help in any way that we can.” Bellamy announced, and Echo gave him a blazing smile. The queen’s reaction was more subdued, but she too appeared more than pleased by the news.

As he appraised the other clan leaders’ responses, he noticed that they didn’t seem as moved by his sudden show of loyalty. Knox looked as if he couldn’t care one way or the other, and Titus appeared genuinely bothered by it. He eyed the chancellor’s pin at Bellamy’s collar warily.

“I’m glad to hear that your people have had a change of heart,” Nia said. “We all stand to benefit from each other’s assistance. At any rate, you’re just in time—we were just discussing our next mission.”

Bellamy eyed her suspiciously. He trusted Echo implicitly but didn’t extend that same certainty toward her queen.

“We all agree that Trikru is a threat. Their territories encroach upon your camp, and their ties to the old coalition have run deep for many years,” Nia explained. “But their generals have pulled much of their fighting force to the capital. Now it the perfect opportunity to press our advantage before they have a chance to regroup.”

“You want to send soldiers to subdue their villages?”

Echo shook her head. “Flosh klin em op.” At Bellamy’s inquisitive glance, she clarified, “Destroy them all.”

“With your people joining our alliance, their proximity makes it all the more prudent for Trikru to be stopped preemptively,” Nia explained. “Do you not value your people’s safety? Or have I overestimated your devotion?”

That reminder was enough to rekindle Bellamy’s interest. “Of course I care about their safety.”

“Then join us,” Echo implored.

“There would be minimal losses to our side,” Nia encouraged him. “Between Skaikru’s weapons and Azgeda’s, we could take all of the villages in less than a day.”

Bellamy glanced toward Echo while he deliberated. Maybe it was her hopeful expression that tipped the scales, or maybe it was his own personal desires—maybe it was a little of both—but it wasn’t long before he forgot all the reasons he might have considered hesitating in the first place.

“Let’s do it,” Bellamy said.

Nia, Echo, and Knox passed contented looks between each other, briefly offering Bellamy acceptance into their circle. There were welcome messages, offerings of gifts for their people. _This is what an alliance should be_ , Bellamy thought with satisfaction. Like they were equals, not pawns to be intimidated or deceived into action.

“The rest of our crew is stationed at Mount Weather,” Bellamy added. “If you gather your troops, we’ll meet you there tonight.”

Nia’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Most of Bellamy’s scouting crew from Mount Weather eagerly agreed to join him for the mission. Skaikru’s new allies would be arriving within the hour, and preparations were already underway.

Though Bellamy had originally been skeptical about Emerson’s presence back at his former home, he’d proven himself to be far more useful than anyone could have expected. Roan kept a close watch, never letting him step a single toe out of line. Emerson had already unlocked two more massive armories on level seven, and he’d hinted that he’d have the storage ports available soon—whatever that meant.

Bellamy pulled his armored vest over his head and fastened it before sitting on the edge of his bunk. He carefully wrapped a length of gauze over the wounds on his knuckles, flexing his fingers to ensure he could still move them easily.

“Bellamy?” Echo’s voice sounded through the empty room, small and uncertain.

He reflexively sprung to his feet. He’d isolated himself in the dormitories while he prepared to quiet his mind, though he certainly wouldn’t have minded Echo’s company at all. He hadn’t been expecting her arrival for some time, and he definitely hadn’t expected to turn up in this room unannounced.

She appeared deeply uncomfortable being back at the mountain where she’d been held prisoner for so many months. She shifted on her feet and looked over her shoulder there might have been a Mountain Man lurking in the shadows waiting to attack.

Bellamy made it to her side without registering a conscious thought. It was the place they’d first met, but unlike last time she was here, she was armed and dangerous, and she looked all the better for it.

“You’re here early,” he said fondly.

Echo relaxed after a beat, seeming to accept that there really was nobody else in the room with them. “Your friend Monty told me where to find you. Our warriors are camped by the mountain’s entrance. They’re eager to begin the mission.”

Bellamy nodded. “Then we should go.”

“Wait.” She grasped his forearm, holding him still.

Bellamy gave her a curious glance. She hesitated, leaving them hovering awkwardly together, firmly within each other’s personal space. Bellamy’s pulse quickened at her sudden proximity and the heady combination of excitement and nervousness hiding behind her eyes.

He froze when she leaned forward and lifted onto her toes to kiss him. Her lips brushed softly against his, and before he had a chance to properly react, she’d pulled away, grinning at him sheepishly. Bellamy swore the ground had fallen out from beneath his feet.

“What was that for?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“For believing in our new alliance. No matter what comes next, I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

Bellamy gave her a winning smile and showed her the way to the control room, where the most senior leaders were congregated to discuss the mission. They were the last to arrive, and Echo kept their hands intertwined tightly. Pike seemed to be the only one who noticed their renewed closeness, and he smirked at them from the back corner of the room, where he’d slunk into the shadows to avoid garnering too much attention.

Nia stood at the head of the room, flanked by the clan leaders in her alliance. Monty and Emerson sat next to the controls, busy generating the digital mock up of the territory they were meant to attack. Brilliant colors lit up the screen on the table in front of them. Titus, Knox, and Roan watched carefully but said nothing yet.

“Why don’t you show us what information you have?” the queen told Emerson.

Unlike Monty, he’d been part of the group who’d built the database on the grounders in the mountain’s vicinity. He’d known almost nothing about Azgeda, but Mount Weather’s dealings with Trikru had existed since the dust had cleared after the old war, and in ways, his knowledge was even more intimate than Azegakru’s, whose villages sat hundreds of miles away.

“There are twenty villages in Trigedakru, spreading over a hundred miles,” Emerson said. As he spoke, a series of dots indicating their approximate locations showed up on the screen.

“That’s an impressive range,” Knox remarked. “It would be difficult to get our infantry in a favorable position before sunrise.”

“And it would be challenging to coordinate a simultaneous attack,” the queen commented, sounding disheartened by the news. Unlike most of the other clans, Trikru’s villages weren’t clustered around a central location. If Emerson’s maps were to be trusted, theirs were evenly spaced throughout the entire territory.

If the villages weren’t attacked at once, it would give the others the opportunity to flee. They needed to mount a massive assault—one that was swift, devastating, and could strike as wide an area as possible.

“What about using the missiles?” Bellamy suggested.

A few of the grounders, including the queen, let out hums of assent. Bellamy’s pride swelled, pleased that for the first time in a long time, his proposals were being reviewed favorably. If he’d suggested the same plan to Kane, he would have dismissed it in a heartbeat.

The plan wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Shortly after Skaikru’s arrival they’d uncovered more missiles stored in the abandoned armories in the deepest sections of the mountain. Each of the twenty villages were well within range, and from the safety of the control room, they would wipe them out simultaneously with the press of a button.

Barely a second later, Emerson doused Bellamy’s satisfaction with ice cold water. “Out of the question.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I have several.” Emerson shot back, but continued before Bellamy had a chance to argue further. “If you commit to using missiles in your attack, you need to dedicate spotters to relay coordinates back to the control room. If there’s one target, that’s a relatively simple task, but when there’s twenty, you’re going to sustain casualties.”

“Explain,” Nia ordered.

“You’re firing missiles from west to east. Let’s say you start by targeting the closest targets first. You’ll have a good front of damage, but you’re going to trap our spotters in the villages further away. They won’t be able to escape through a wall of fire, and there’s a possibility for losing radio contact once they have to run. The range of our ground radios is only about forty miles.”

“But what if we attacked the easternmost villages first?”

“Missiles are loud. The western villages would instantly be on alert once they passed overhead. Even with guns, an entire village would easily overwhelm a single spotter. There’s a good chance we wouldn’t get good coordinates for our later strikes. Not to mention—using twenty missiles would nearly wipe out the last of our supply.”

Bellamy wanted to argue with him. Despite their current working arrangements, Emerson had been Bellamy’s primary enemy back when he was infiltrating the mountain, so the chip on his shoulder weighed even more heavily when he realized the man was right. He wanted to punch something.

“This has to be a coordinated ground attack. We arrive silently, then hit them hard when they least expect it,” Emerson said confidently, and the more the man spoke, the more Bellamy could see his military roots emerge. He didn’t have the same bloody combat experiences as the others, having lived most of his life sheltered within the mountain, but he was well studied all the same.

“Their armies are miles away, and all that’s left to protect them is little more than a young, untrained militia. If we take out the village sentries quietly, we can surround them by establishing position on their borders,” Emerson continued. “We’d drive them from their tents, and after that, it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Can’t miss,” Roan said appreciatively, eying Emerson with sinister amusement and clapping him hard across the shoulder. Emerson winced at the contact.

There was only one snag with the plan, in Bellamy’s opinion.

“If we do this, it’s gotta be tonight, and it’s gotta be soon,” Bellamy said. “Once Trikru notices there’s an army camped outside the mountain, they’re not going to be sticking around waiting for us to attack.”

“He’s right,” Echo said, giving Bellamy’s hand a supportive squeeze. “We cannot travel quickly enough by foot, and our horses aren’t accustomed to hearing massive gunfire at close range. If they startled and ran wildly, it would sabotage the mission.”

Emerson looked around the room, searching for a single face. Bellamy wasn’t the only person surprised when his gaze settled on not one of their warriors, but the diminutive form hunched over the computer controls.

“It’s Monty, isn’t it?” Emerson said gruffly.

The teen shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His history with the Mountain Men ran even deeper than Bellamy’s, and having to work so closely with Emerson made him squeamish, despite their shared accomplishments. He nodded nervously, not wanting to appear insubordinate.

“It’s time to show off the Rovers.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On their journey through the corridors, a number of Skaikru followed behind them, buzzing with excitement. They all sequentially piled into the lifts and rode them as they went up, up, and up.

The doors slid open at the top level: _Surface Access_.

Emerson wordlessly led them to a long, empty wall. Upon closer inspection, Bellamy could just make out the panels and joints that marked the space for what it really was: a retractable door.  Emerson held his hand against the biometric scanner, which flashed green as it read his fingerprints. Everyone waited with baited breath as wall slowly inched up, groaning and rattling under the weight of the thick metal as it rose.

“No fucking way,” Jasper’s reaction came first, and it was the least eloquent of them all.

Frenzied muttering broke out from all sides, and when Bellamy finally saw what stood behind the doors, he couldn’t help the flare of excitement that rose in him as well.

It was a storage garage, filled from wall to wall with armored vehicles. There were even mounting brackets along the roofs to attach their rifles.

“Meet our _Rover_ series. These could stop a shot from a fifty caliber rifle,” Emerson said proudly, patting one of the thick windows. “Arrows, swords, and knives wouldn’t stand a chance. And unlike horses, they don’t get tired or scared.”

The coming minutes became a showcase for the Rovers. Everyone in the room was enraptured by them, none of them having seen anything like it in their lives. They needed to touch the controls, feel the cool, smooth metal beneath their fingers.

Nia ordered Roan outside to gather their best shooters. In half an hour, they would separate into their units and join Skaikru for the raid.

Titus, who’d been suspiciously unenthusiastic about their plan since its inception, used the opportunity to slip past the group inspecting the Rovers. He approached the queen, who apparently considered fawning over the mountain’s technology beneath her. Bellamy stepped away cautiously, leaning back to better hear them. He was sure to keep his eyes trained on Echo to avoid being accused of eavesdropping.

Titus leaned over and whispered into the Ice Nation leader’s ear, “Queen Nia, may I have a word?”

They stepped just outside the doorway and into the empty hallway beyond them. Bellamy glanced to either side, and once he was certain nobody was paying him any attention, sneaked into the darkness behind the doorway and out of sight. He didn’t like the thought of Nia colluding with anyone in secret—least of all another leader in their brand new alliance.

Bellamy held his breath to hear their conversation more clearly. Even with him straining to hear, they were nearly out of earshot.

“What is it, Titus?” the queen asked in a clipped tone.

“Are you sure this entirely necessary?” The man’s words hurried out in almost a plea. “All that is left in Trigedakru right now are ordinary citizens. They have minimal training, if any at all. They aren’t a threat to us.”

Nia’s response was low and dangerous. “They will be a threat once their armies return. If you destroy their homes, they won’t be able to come back. This is valuable territory for us. The mountain can be a fortress for our side. We need to keep it that way, and bringing the battle to them now is the perfect opportunity.”

“But _this_ isn’t the way!”

“Are your feet suddenly growing cold, Titus? As I recall, your people were some of the chief dissenters after the Commander sounded the retreat at the mountain.” Her tone grew bitter. “ _Shameful_ , that’s what you called it. You had no qualms about marching to war against Polis. These people are against us. They _threaten_ us. We must battle them, and we must defeat them.”

“Those were battles, but this—this is an execution. We are better warriors than this cowardice.”

“I will show you what an execution is if you don’t hold your tongue.” Nia glared at him menacingly. “You are either for us or against us, Titus. I would advise you to think long and hard about where your loyalties lie. I won’t tolerate cynics dragging down our mission.” The queen’s words loomed dangerously between them and left no room for argument. Yet she waited for a response nonetheless.

“Yes, Queen Nia,” Titus conceded through gritted teeth.

“Good. Now prepare to join the others. I won’t hear another word of this.”

Bellamy pressed himself flush against the wall to fully mask himself in the shadows. Moments later, Titus came shuffling back into the garage, a scowl permanently etched on his face. Roan, who’d returned minutes before, now eyed him warily. His suspicions piqued, and he followed to the corridor outside, where Nia was still fuming. Bellamy held his breath while Roan passed, careful to avoid being seen or heard.

“Is something wrong?” he heard Roan ask in a low, husky voice.

“Titus has become a liability I can no longer afford,” Nia answered, cool and matter-of-fact.

“What would you have me do?”

“After Trikru is burned to the ground, I want you to take care of him,” she said. “I don’t care how it’s done, or whose services you enlist, but I want him finished quickly. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

Bellamy held still while Roan slipped back into the garage to join the others. Nia lingered outside, and while Bellamy waited for her to reappear, he noticed his knees were trembling.

Nia was dangerous. The plan he’d concocted with Pike to overthrow her would cost them their lives if they weren’t careful. Titus was as good as dead for even questioning her; there was no telling what sort of punishment she’d dole out for an outright betrayal.

He took several deep, steadying breaths to regain his composure. After swiveling his head in every direction to make sure the coast was clear, he slid out of the shadows and back with the rest of his friends.

Bellamy tried his best to keep a reassuring smile on his face for the remainder of the night.

 


	10. The Northern Crown

The travelers remained silent as their caravan neared Polis. The city’s walls stood visible for at least two hundred yards as they approached, its tall buildings peeking over the edges. They looked far more impressive in person than the pictures Clarke had seen aboard the Ark.

Clarke’s horse cantered through the narrow entrance alongside Lexa’s, and she frowned once they entered the city square.

Polis had clearly once housed a thriving civilization, but it was eerily devoid of life now. The remaining market stalls lining the streets were ransacked and abandoned, and the few people who dared to brave the cold weather kept their eyes focused on the ground and looked like they’d rather be anyplace else.

 _Polis will change the way you think about us_ , Clarke remembered hearing once. The memory felt like it came from another lifetime.

Clarke wondered what Polis used to look like before it had been ravaged by war. The place looked like scenes from her nightmares. As the rain started to fall more earnestly, the last vestiges of old blood started to wash from the cobbled stone beneath their feet into the crevices and gutters around them.

Lexa watched Clarke carefully, assessing her reaction. Her hood was lifted to provide covering from the rain, and it obscured much of her facial expression with shadows. “I wish your first experience of Polis would have been under better circumstances.” She sounded uncharacteristically timid.

She could have been referring to the state of Polis or the reasons for the visit itself, Clarke realized. When Lexa had first invited her, there hadn’t been a betrayal or a civil war looming between them. Polis had been alive and vibrant. But everything—and everyone—had changed since then.

Clarke gave a small nod. “Me too.”

Unlike the outside, the building interiors were relatively preserved in the section Clarke was staying. Lexa showed her to a spare room in the main tower, replete with a spacious bed, a balcony overlooking the northern half of the city, and her own personal attendants. Having people at her beck and call seemed too superfluous for Clarke, who’d dismissed them at once.

Lexa wasted no time rounding up the rest of the Trikru army stationed in Polis and putting them to work on the city’s cleanup. She was moving more easily, and on the few occasions Clarke spotted her from the balcony, she barely showed any signs of her injury at all. Lexa lifted heavy pieces of rubble from the fallen wall like they were feather light. Only afterward, when she shifted and stretched her torso uncomfortably did Clarke remember that she’d been shot barely even three weeks ago.

It only took a couple of days for Clarke to grow restless in Polis. For her own peace of mind, she avoided Lexa as much as possible, and to her credit, Lexa didn’t pressure her.

Without her people to watch out for, without some immediate mission to save them, Clarke didn’t know what to do with herself. Not even hiding away in the woods sounded appealing anymore because she didn’t have anything left to hide from.

Yet Clarke still needed action, so on her third morning in Polis, she ventured to healer’s hut, where her mom had settled in with Nyko to care for the injured. Many had died in the days after the battle from various maladies—infection, blood loss, and blood clots mostly—but Clarke was surprised to see just how many were still left to be treated. The old hut had clearly been expanded to add a new wing, which was filled to capacity.

As she entered, she tried to quell the wave of nausea from the overwhelming scent of burnt flesh, blood, and infection. Abby wasn’t the least bit bothered by it. When Clarke spotted her from across the room, she was bent over cleaning a severely infected cut that looked like it might never heal. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and she looked like she was in her element once again. Clarke felt a surge of pride and affection.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked, and Abby’s head popped up, searching for Clarke’s voice. She smiled as her daughter approached. The grounder on her table was wincing in pain as Abby dressed his wound, but he stayed still, his eyes widening in awe when Clarke walked toward them.

“Actually… yes.”

Clarke had asked to be polite, not at all expecting anything she could help with. She could tend to most simple injuries, but the people here were terribly ill and needed more skilled hands than her own. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh?”

Abby put the finishing touches on the bandage encircling the grounder’s leg and sent him on his way. He hobbled off the table, send a quick “ _mochof_ ” her way as he left. Abby watched him leave with sad eyes.

“He’s going to lose his leg,” Abby mused only loud enough for Clarke to hear. “I’ve tried to debride the wound, but there’s not enough viable tissue left to heal. When the infection eventually takes hold, he’ll die if it’s not amputated.”

Clarke frowned. “Have you told him yet?”

“I don’t know how,” Abby lamented. “I don’t speak enough of their language to tell him.”

Clarke made a mental note of the man’s appearance, making a mental note to speak to him later. “What can I help you with now?”

The question brought Abby out of her reverie, and her mouth instantly pressed in a resolute line that let Clarke know she was all business. “I couldn’t bring all of the Ark’s medical supplies with me. But we’re starting to run low on everything I’ve got.” She gestured behind her to her work table, where the contents of her bag were spread across the table. Clarke noticed a number of nearly empty vials and bottles. Antibiotics, pain relievers, antiseptic ointments—everything appeared to be dangerously scarce. “Nyko has volunteered to keep water boiling so we have a steady, sterile supply, but we’re going to have to start using herbals soon.”

“What do you need?”

“Comfrey at the moment. I saw plenty of it while we were riding from camp.” She paused before adding, “Do you remember what it looks like?”

“I think so,” Clarke answered, vaguely recalling the pictures from her earth skills class. Though she’d studied hard, Wells had always been more of the botany expert. She tried to suppress the painful memories of him. “How much do you need?”

Abby grabbed a spare sack that she’d set aside for soiled bandages and thrust it toward Clarke. “As much as you can get me.”

She set off at once, ignoring the curious glances as she passed the rubble along the west wall and outside the city limits.

In the forest, away from the broken people and buildings, it was easier to pretend that the world was back as it should be: quiet, peaceful, alive. In a way, it felt much like it had when she’d run for refuge in the forest after massacring Mount Weather—except now Clarke’s people were now the biggest potential threats, and Lexa was one of her strongest allies.

She hoped wartime wasn’t always so ironic.

After several hours, Clarke had amassed a full bag of the short, leafy shrubs, pulled clean from the roots. Her knees were damp and muddy, and her back ached from the work. The ragged strap dug into her shoulder painfully, but it was a welcome pain as she trekked back to Polis.

Clarke could tell the moment she stepped through the rubble at the old western entrance that something was happening. When she’d left this morning, the city had been asleep, and now, people were bustling outside, speaking animatedly to one another, and heading toward the south end of the city. She rushed against the flow of people to the healer’s hut to find her mother, where their was another unexpected guest inside.

“Nyko?” Clarke asked. Her suspicions were confirmed when the grizzled face turned around. Since Abby’s arrival, he’d been out maintaining their supply of sterile water and making house calls for dressing changes. Clarke had hardly seen him since she’d shown up. “What’s going on?”

Clarke could tell she’d interrupted a conversation between him and Abby when he looked back to the older woman apologetically. “Visitors spotted approaching the south entrance,” he said gruffly.

“Who?”

He shrugged. “There was a crowd of people. I couldn’t see.”

The buildings were pressed together tightly at that end of the city, Clarke recalled. As many as she saw running outside, she could only imagine the mass of bodies pushing into that narrow space. Nyko retrieved more bandages from the hut, as well as a salve for burns, and departed the hut in minutes.

Clarke removed the heavy bag from her shoulders and hefted it onto the table in front of her. Abby’s eyes widened, clearly not having expected such a return in just a few hours.

“That should be enough to last a while, don’t you think?” Clarke asked.

“I would think so,” Abby answered. She started sifting through the contents. A pile of green plants starting forming at her side as she removed them, and she stilled unexpectedly, with a frown on her face.

“What is it?”

“Some of this is foxglove.” Abby dug deeper into the bag. “A _lot_ of this is foxglove.” Another identical looking pile started forming next to the first.

“How can you tell?”

“The leaves are broader, and the tips are less pointed.” Abby pointed to an example on the table. “See?”

“Not really,” Clarke admitted.

“I’ll wait until I have gloves on to show you better. The plant’s extract absorbs through skin fairly easily.” Then a pause, as she glanced up at Clarke in alarm. Her daughter’s hands were covered in dirt and grime and who knew what else. “Please tell me you didn’t get any of it on you. You know it’s toxic.”

She’d surely gotten _something_ on her, but had it been foxglove or comfrey or both? She felt fine at the moment, but she couldn’t even tell the two apart. Her mother instantly picked up on her uncertainty.

“You need to hurry and wash your hands, Clarke. Just to be sure,” Abby said. “The clean water’s at the washing station around the back.”

Clarke obeyed, scrubbing her hands until they were bright pink. She’d barely finished drying them when she heard a faint exclamation that made her stomach drop. She rushed around to the front of the healer’s hut. Her mother was standing just outside the entrance, clearly having heard it as well.

“Did you hear that?” Abby asked urgently. “What did they say?”

“I’m not sure,” Clarke said in a low voice. There was a clear view of the square from the hut, and the number of people outside appeared to have miraculously doubled since her return from the woods. “I could’ve sworn they said—”

The next time they heard it, the words were unmistakable.

“Skaikru raun hir!”

Clarke’s eyes fell upon the source of the shouting. A large group was scurrying toward the southern entrance along with the others. She and her mother locked eyes, each of them with the same unspoken questions: Had Kane gotten through to them? Had Skaikru finally had a change of heart?

She grabbed her mother by the wrist and followed the growing mass of people settled in the narrow streets. As she nudged forward, the onlookers in front of her parted without hesitation. The whispers redoubled behind her the further she advanced.

Clarke froze when she saw the source of the commotion. She’d been expecting a large Skaikru delegation, and the reality was considerably fewer. Only six riders waited just beyond the gates.

Raven smirked at her dumbfounded expression from from atop her horse. “Watch out Griffin. You’re about to start drooling.”

Clarke realized that her mouth was hanging open. Just as she snapped it shut, she noticed the others around her. Kane and Sinclair she easily recognized, along with three others she’d seen before but had never formally met.

Abby rushed forward from behind Clarke to help Raven off her horse, which gave Clarke a moment to think.

“Why are you here?” she blurted. Then, realizing how accusatory the question sounded, she added, “It’s way too early. What happened?”

The way they awkwardly looked at each other should have been the first clue that something was terribly wrong.

When Lexa arrived through the crowd barely a minute later with Indra following closely at her heels, both slightly sweaty from the work they’d been doing clearing the debris from the battle, Kane and Sinclair’s expressions changed from merely uncomfortable to downright frightened.

“Ron osir taim up,” Lexa ordered to the group gathered behind them. With a wave of her hand, she added, “Gon we.”

The curious citizens who’d gathered wisely decided to scatter once they sensed the palpable tension from their commander. Kane dismounted from his horse, followed quickly by the others. Even Clarke could tell something was wrong, so she knew Lexa could feel it too.

“Commander,” Kane addressed her carefully, afraid of her reaction. To Lexa’s credit, she regarded him politely as ever.

“Chancellor Kane.” As soon as the greeting left Lexa’s mouth, Kane winced. “The summit isn’t for another ten days. What business do you have in Polis?”

“We seek sanctuary from those at Camp Jaha.”

Lexa scrutinized him with her keen eyes. “Why is a chancellor seeking refuge from his own people?”

Kane glanced around those left at the entrance, which had thinned considerably since Lexa’s edict. Indra and several other Trikru military leaders stood at her side, but those were the only grounders left from the original crowd.

“I’m no longer the chancellor of Skaikru,” Kane confessed. “As of two days ago, our people are under new leadership.”

“Marcus, what happened?” Abby’s reaction sounded first. In any other instance, interrupting Lexa’s conversation would have been seen as an impropriety, but it slipped past their notice because everyone, including Lexa, had the same question.

“The people demanded a vote for recall. Their decision was nearly unanimous.” He unconsciously toyed with the collar of his jacket, where he used to wear the chancellor’s pin.

 _So much for Skaikru having a change of heart_ , Clarke thought _._

She had witnessed malcontent bubbling beneath the surface during her visit to the Ark, but she never expected outright mutiny against Kane. He’d been a steady presence during their hardest times, and despite the numerous struggles he’d led them through, their people had survived.

The only three people who’d ever carried the chancellorship had been herself, Jaha, and Kane. All three were now miles away from the Skaikru camp. The next logical choice would have been Sinclair, who was now the most senior member of the guard, and Sinclair had left them as well.

Abby frowned, following a similar line of thought. “Then who is in charge?”

“I don’t know if there’s been a formal election yet…” Kane looked away awkwardly, as if reluctant answer for some reason. “But it looked as if Bellamy and Pike were calling the shots.”

The blood in Clarke’s veins turned to ice.

“Pike?” Her mother was oblivious. “Who is—”

“Pike Bradbury,” Kane’s explanation was low and bitter.

Abby stared uncomprehending for several moments. Clarke could tell by the shift in her expression when realization dawned. “You don’t mean—”

“From station thirteen, yes.”

“And they threatened to kill you?” Clarke said, looking at them with even more confusion than before. None of it made sense. Pike had been traveling with them… He’d been on Clarke’s side, hadn’t he?

Of course, Lexa was far more concerned with their strategy. “You say that Bellamy and Pike were ‘calling the shots.’ What were their plans?” she asked the newcomers.

The conversation grew ominously quiet. Kane and Sinclair glanced between each other uncomfortably. Their reticence started to wear Indra’s patience dangerously thin, and Clarke noticed her flexing her fingers and shifting on her feet in irritation.

“They accepted the alliance with the Ice Nation,” Raven finally spoke up, dashing any of Clarke’s remaining optimism. Though she was addressing Lexa, she looked directly at Clarke, knowing the news would affect her on a more personal level. “Anyone who was physically capable was summoned to Mount Weather afterward. It sounded like a ‘join or die’ order, but we didn’t stick around long enough to find out. We gathered up the people we knew were unhappy and snuck out as fast as we could.”

Clarke was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know. “What were they going to do?”

Now it was Raven’s turn to look uncomfortable. “They were going to attack Trikru. They found Rovers at Mount Weather and rode out the night before last.”

“But Trikru’s here in Polis,” Clarke reasoned, shaking her head. Raven looked at her sadly, and from beside her Lexa clenched her fists and her jaw tightly shut.

“Not all of them, Clarke,” Raven reminded her gently.

The reality of Raven's words struck Clarke like an avalanche. Her chest constricted, her breath robbed from her. Lexa seemed to fare much better, used to tempering her reactions. Used to stoicism. But there was no hiding the trouble stewing inside her. She was Lexa kom _Trikru_ after all.

“Indra, I want you to put together a task force to investigate the Trikru villages,” Lexa said, turning to her trusted general. “Travel lightly, and make haste. If the Skaikru attack is over, I want you to round up all remaining survivors and bring them to Polis, am I understood?”

“Sha, Heda,” Indra nodded. She went at once to follow the order, already collaborating with her fellow warriors for the trip.

“You may find welcome in Polis as long as you wish to stay here, Marcus kom Skaikru,” Lexa added to the group of travelers. “Clarke, would you mind showing your friends to the guest rooms in the tower? They’re on the level below your room.”

Lexa had assumed Clarke would want to spend time with Raven—indeed, that’s mostly what she had done during her visit to Camp Jaha—but she underestimated just how deeply Clarke felt the sting of Skaikru’s betrayal. Clarke finally found her breath and with it, her voice.

“I’m going with Indra,” Clarke announced—a statement, not a request. Indra wasn’t pleased by the brazen remark. When Lexa turned to look at her questioningly, Clarke added: “I need to see it…for myself.”

It was an odd impetus, but if her people really have committed the atrocity Raven has insinuated, Clarke needs to bear witness if she wants to reconcile the actions with what she knows—or doesn’t know—of her people. The Skaikru she knows wouldn’t have done such a thing.

Lexa didn’t seem particularly thrilled about Clarke leaving the protective shield of Polis, but she relented. If Clarke needed something, Lexa would assure it was done.

Clarke gave her what she hoped looked like a grateful nod.

“Very well. I will show you to your quarters,” Lexa directed to the visiting Skaikru. “And Clarke?” The blonde turned around before she had a chance to follow Indra, who’d already stormed off to the stables. Lexa’s brows scrunched together, deeply wrought with worry. “Please be careful.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke wasn’t under any delusions that Indra actually wanted her around. Out of their traveling party, Clarke was the only outsider. She knew she’d had no right to demand joining them, so she played by their rules.

She kept her mouth shut and she left her gun with the rest of her effects back at the tower. “Your Skaikru weapons are too loud. I won’t allow your trigger finger to put my team at risk,” Indra had said, giving her an ultimatum. “Leave the fayagon behind, or you’ll stay here with it.”

Clarke had borrowed a bow from one of her mother’s patients—someone who could no longer use it due to their injuries—and followed Indra without protest.

The cold air was biting for most of the ride, the snow swirling around them like confetti. They were shielded by the warmth of their horses, and the flakes melted before they peppered their skin and clothes. Tondc was one of the northernmost villages and was only a few hours from Polis with such a small caravan. The telltale sign of game traps and fallen trees were the first signs that they were nearing their destination.

“Penn, gon op en hon Nikolas,” Indra ordered to the rider at her side. At once, Penn kicked into a gallop, leaving the others behind him.

Clarke wordlessly led her own horse into the space he’d vacated. Indra clenched her teeth together but didn’t comment on the change in formation.

Clarke decided to push her luck. “Who is Nikolas?”

“He is Tondc’s lead sentry. In the event the village is incapable of defending itself, he is responsible for coordinating their evacuation,” Indra explained, not sounding nearly as irritated as Clarke had expected. She’d thought their shared history of Tondc would forever be a point of conflict between them.

“If Tondc has been evacuated, then why are we looking for him?”

“Nikolas and his team are bound by duty to remain in the village and continue protecting it, no matter the circumstances.” Indra glanced toward the clearing in the trees where the first huts started peeking out from beyond. “Nikolas has been honorable in his duty for many years and through many conflicts. One way or another, we will find him here.”

Even Clarke’s last passage through Tondc hadn’t been so eerily quiet. Dark, heavy smoke billowed over the treetops, filling them all with an awful sense of foreboding.

Amongst the gathering snow flurries on the ground, Clarke noticed unusual markings in the mud.

“Are those…” She pulled back on her reins to slow her horse, squinting to see them better, “… tire tracks?”

They were wide, and the brush surrounding them was trampled and macerated. Whatever vehicle left the markings had been enormous.

“Osir strech en fut,” Indra called to the others. Clarke joined them in dismounting their horses.

She felt like someone had physically punched her when she emerged through the haphazard gates. Indra stopped at her side, and the normally hardened woman couldn’t even hide the bewilderment and agony from her face.

It looked as if _nobody_ had escaped. Sprawling bodies littered the ground outside, and the air carried the faintly putrid stench of decaying flesh that Clarke was all too familiar with. All the huts and tents crumbled in the dying embers of an old blaze.

Penn remained standing in the midst of the devastation, silently thunderstruck.

Clarke wasn’t sure how she found the will to push forward, but somehow, she managed to thoughtlessly follow Indra further into the depths of the village, where there was only more bloodshed to witness. The images of their faces, literally frozen in the brief flashes of horror they’d faced before their deaths, brewed something dark and unwelcome within her. Though Clarke tried, she couldn’t look away from them.

Her people—many of her friends—were responsible for this. Her insides twisted uncomfortably.

“They didn’t have a chance to fight,” Indra murmured. There was no need to worry about stealth now—Trikru’s enemies had long since left here—but Clarke understood the natural instinct for silence, as if not disturb or violate the dead any further. This wasn’t the first time these people had endured such horrific devastation. “All of them… they were trying to run away.”

Clarke noticed the smattering of bullet holes scattered across their backs. Other than the gunshot wounds, none of them showed any signs of injuries, no signs that they’d been in combat before the massacre. Many were only wearing their thin nightwear, as if the attackers had arrived sometime in the dead of night.

Of the bodies fallen during the hailstorm of bullets, there was no preference for age, gender, race, or physical disability. Everyone had been equally affected.

“Even the yongons,” Indra whispered, aghast.

Clarke turned her attention to where Indra was. The grounder general knelt by a fallen heap of bodies. A pair of adults lied spread together in the mud. Their three children, Clarke could only assume, were huddled over their bodies, each with bullet holes in their foreheads. After they’d stopped running, they’d been executed like war criminals.

“I knew the Azgeda were wicked. Though I guess we now see the limit of Skaikru’s compassion as well,” Indra commented darkly.

Clarke wanted to say something back, some sort of baseless defense for her people with whom she’d once shared a home, the people she’d fought alongside when the world was a strange new phenomenon. But Clarke came up with nothing. No words could justify the repulsive sight before her. 

They stood there for an immeasurable moment, both absorbing the scene before them. For Clarke, the quiet time with her thoughts threatened to consume her. For Indra, the painful sight only strengthened her resolve; seeing her slain people served as some sort of strange fuel for her purpose.

“You and Penn take this side of the village,” Indra ordered. She no longer spoke in tentative whispers. “Search the huts—round up anyone alive to be quartered in Polis. We move forward to Tonawa in one hour.”

The search didn’t take nearly as long as anyone expected; there were no survivors. They rounded up the bodies as best they could and burned them in Trikru tradition. It was the only comfort they could offer after the injustice of their deaths.

They only saw more of the same over the next five days. Tonawa. Delphi. Annan. Arlin. Every single village had been completely obliterated. The Trikru soldiers in Polis no longer had homes to return to; they didn't exist anymore. But Clarke knew in Indra's heart, in every Trikru warrior’s heart, that they still did.

Clarke was no stranger to the horrors of death, but these filled her with an overwhelming hopelessness. She’d sustained blow after blow since her incarceration on the Ark and journey to the ground, stumbling but always finding the wherewithal to rise again and continue fighting.

Now, all she felt was numbness. Nothing felt like it mattered anymore.

Because if something _did_ matter to Clarke, it would get snatched from her in a heartbeat. If it mattered, she wouldn’t be able to save it. She was starting to concede the idea that despite her best efforts, war, not love or peace, was the most powerful force in the world.

The bodies in Trikru seemed to stare back accusingly at her everywhere she looked, reassuring her of that conclusion. She’d failed to save them. She’d failed to save her own people from their descent into depravity. She’d failed the rest of the grounders still in the alliance.

The world was splitting apart at the seams despite Clarke’s best efforts to save it, and all she could do was watch it happen and try not to let it break her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Indra's caravan arrived back in Polis on the sixth day. As they entered the city, the rumors of Skaikru's latest atrocity had already spread rampantly. The downtrodden nature of their walk, the lack of survivors accompanying them—it was a story that didn't need telling. Another wave of despair swept across Polis. If the citizens had any energy left, Clarke would’ve expected a riot, but one never came. Blow after blow, not only had Polis been besieged; their civilians had been broken too.

The summit was still scheduled in five day’s time, but it didn’t seem possible to contain the clans’ developing hatred for each other into such a confined space. For all of Polis’s grandeur, it still had walls. The only realistic solution (or the inevitable conclusion) seemed to be a battlefield, where both sides drew blood until the other had no more left to spill.

Lexa met the returning travelers at her throne room. Her eyes passed carefully over them and reached the same unofficial conclusion as her people, though she didn’t leave immediately to break anything like they did. She remained, somewhat bewilderingly, as calm as ever.

“What did you find?” She directed her questioning at Indra.

“Raven kom Skaikru was right,” Indra said, betraying none of the emotion she felt. “The villages are destroyed. We searched all the territories, but none survived.”

Lexa’s lips flattened into a straight line. She quickly glanced toward Clarke, assessing her reaction, but all the blonde felt was empty and numb. There was a silence after Lexa’s observation, during which she considered the next move.

“Push the perimeter guard out twice their current distance,” Lexa said. “The forces don’t have to be enough to fend them off—just enough to relay a warning. If the rebels think us vulnerable and are starting to raid our clans carte blanche, I don’t want us to be caught unaware, is that understood?”

“Sha, Heda.”

Indra took her dismissal and instantly started passing orders to her staff. The throne room gradually emptied as they left to tend to their duties, eventually leaving only Lexa and Clarke standing across the room from each other.

Lexa eyed her again, this time letting her gaze search Clarke longer since they were now out of the public’s eye. There was no official decorum to adhere to. Now that the news was heard and the orders issued, the facade of political machinations vanished.

Lexa approached her warily, unsure of the strange emotional reaction she was witnessing. She’d seen Clarke angry, morose, and vulnerable before, but this was vastly different. Both of them felt it.

“Are you all right, Clarke?” she said gently.

“I don’t know,” Clarke answered with a shrug. Her own words sounded distant to her own ears, vaguely the same timbre but hollower. Lifeless.

Lexa studied her for a beat. “Something seems to be troubling you.” She left her statement open-ended, hoping to spur on the conversation.

“I’m just tired.”

Lexa let the lie pass without comment. “Is there anything you saw that you want to talk about?”

Clarke finally looked up to meet Lexa’s eyes. They were concerned, which brought the familiar ache again. It was the first time she’d felt anything in almost a week.

Those were Lexa’s people who were slaughtered in their homes, not Clarke’s. _Lexa_ should be the one needing to be consoled for the loss, but the understanding behind her green eyes made Clarke feel ashamed on behalf of what her people had done. Despite all the anger Clarke had hurled at her since their reunion, and despite the fact that her people had murdered countless people from her clan (with promises to commit many more), Lexa showed her only compassion. Clarke wasn’t sure she deserved it now. Guilt clawed at her chest, cold and unwelcome.

She would much rather have the numbness back. It was far less complicated and confusing.

“There’s nothing,” Clarke answered, evading her eyes once again.

Lexa didn’t believe it for a second; she’d surely noticed the brief flicker of pain across Clarke’s face and had discerned the cause of it. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Very well,” Lexa conceded. The sadness and disappointment in her tone were palpable.

After the conversations they’d already shared since their working arrangements resumed, Clarke knew she could confide her fears and uncertainties in Lexa. For all of her other faults, that was one area in which she’d had never betrayed her.

What Clarke feared now was no longer having the excuse of her people to rely on if matters between them soured.

Skaikru had betrayed her, and the tenuous middle ground Clarke was accustomed to walking—between the Sky People and the Grounders, effortlessly flitting among both—was ripped from beneath her. Clarke wasn’t welcome in the Skaikru clan anymore. After her people committed their massacre, they’d thrust Clarke to the side of the Alliance, toward Lexa, and there didn’t appear to be any going back until the war was done and one side annihilated.

Clarke wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

Lexa took Clarke’s silence to mean the end of that particular topic. She lifted her shoulders, pushing them back into her more formal posture. Her demeanor transitioned back to the one she carried when she was busy being Heda.

“Your people officially joining the rebel cause obviously puts you in a precarious position. I know that you care for them, Clarke,” she added, softness creeping into her tone. “Your friends have decided to remain in Polis for the time being, but if you wish to rejoin them at the summit—”

Clarke froze. She wasn’t ready to talk about her people yet and what their betrayal meant for her future.

“I need to go,” Clarke blurted, cutting off Lexa’s offer. “I just need to be alone, I’m sorry.”

She turned on her heel before giving Lexa a chance to respond. The last glimpse she caught on her retreat was Lexa’s hurt, confused expression. Clarke tried to repress the guilt threatening to bubble over and resisted the urge to turn around and comfort her.

As she trudged the dark hallways back to her quarters, Clarke actually welcomed the unpleasant images of the dead. After all, now she at least felt like she deserved it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke spent the majority of the next few days in a listless daze. She’d tried to distract herself with drawing at first—there had been paper and charcoal stocked in her work desk prior to her arrival—but she was too unfocused to complete anything beyond the most basic outlines. As she scratched vague shapes on the pages, her mind would drift to subjects she was adamantly avoiding thinking about, so she’d returned the supplies to their rightful place and hadn’t touched them again.

Winter weather permitting, Clarke spent most of her days seated on her balcony with her feet dangling through the gaps in the balustrade. If the weather was too cold, rainy, or snowy, she remained inside her room, staring at the high arched ceilings. In the silence, she spend a great deal of time thinking about the past.

Her dad, mostly. Sometimes Wells, back before they landed on the ground together.

She was overcome with nostalgia for her simple, relatively uncomplicated childhood back on the Ark. A time when her most pressing concerns were her test scores in Earth Skills, repeatedly losing to Wells at chess, or whether she or her dad would win their respective bets on long-forgotten 150-year old football matches. She’d always taken that simple happiness for granted.

Clarke made scant appearances for meals, but otherwise, she’d been like a ghost since her return to Polis. Fortunately her mother seemed to understand. After initially checking in on her after her journey from Trikru, she sensed that her daughter needed some time alone, which she granted.

The knock on her door late one evening startled her from her silent reverie. She glanced toward the heavy oak door, thinking she’d been hearing things. Until now there had seemed to be an unspoken agreement that everybody would leave Clarke alone until the summit. Then the knock came again, increasingly insistent. Clarke dragged herself from where she’d been spread across her unmade bed and swung open the door.

Raven stood in the doorway alone, her hands and forearms covered in dark smudges like she’d been busy at work. She rose one eyebrow as she looked Clarke up and down, and it felt like a challenge.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” Raven joked. “That’s a relief.”

Clarke was too stunned to say anything at her sudden appearance, much less put up much resistance as Raven pushed past her and limped her way inside. She stared disbelievingly at the high ceilings, lavish decorations, and spacious floorplan.

“This is so fucking unfair,” Raven lamented. Her neck was craned as she stared upward. “You could totally fit both my room and your mom’s room inside this place with space to spare.”

“Raven, why are you here?”

The question drew her away from her distraction, or maybe Clarke realized, the act had been part of her intention all along. If Raven had just asked to some inside to talk, would Clarke have let her? She honestly didn’t know.

“I’m here—” Raven explained slowly, “—because you went and got all catatonic on everyone the second you got back here. People noticed.”

“So?”

“People are worried about you. Hell, _I_ _’m_ even worried about you, and most of the time, you couldn’t pay me to give two shits.” Raven thought to herself for a moment. “Have you even eaten anything since you’ve been back?”

“I have.” Clarke’s tone turned defensive.

“Every day?” Raven challenged.

Clarke went silent.

“Look, I get the need to be alone. Process, heal, find your inner zen and all that. Most of us have been there. But you’re _not_ doing that anymore, and it’s starting to worry me.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“No you’re not. You’re avoiding.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “What are you, my shrink?”

“Let’s be real, you could never afford me.” Raven quipped. When Clarke moved around her to sit on the edge of her bed, Raven followed her. The pair sat quietly for some time until Clarke leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. “You want to talk about it?” Raven asked gently.

Clarke’s muffled answer was barely intelligible. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Any of it,” she muttered. “All of it.”

Raven realized that was all she was going to get when Clarke flung herself back on the bed and turned until she was facing away from her. She stared at her friend’s back, wanting to help ease whatever pain she was feeling but feeling impotent to help her. Raven pushed herself up from the bed and headed toward the door.

“Listen, Clarke…” Raven said as she neared the exit. Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she turned to face the prone form of her friend. “I know something awful happened. I get that you may not want to get into specifics, and that’s fine. But could you at least talk to Lexa soon?” Her voice lilted uncomfortably at the name. Raven had never referred to her as anything other than her title before, and she was clearly uncomfortable with it.

The absurdity of the request was enough for Clarke to roll back over to face her friend. Raven wasn’t a timid person, but she looked uncomfortable standing in the doorway.

 “Did she ask you to come talk to me?” Clarke asked, trying (and failing) for the question to not sound like an accusation.

“No.”

“Then why ask me to talk to her? It’s not like you two get along.”

That was Clarke being overly generous. Ever since the grounder’s alliance started with Finn’s death, Raven and Lexa had been at odds with each other. Their crowning achievement was simply a lack of open hostilities.

“Because she’s been up my ass every day since you got back, asking me how you’re doing, what’s bothering you, if she did anything wrong.” Raven paused, mulling over her next words carefully. “It’s interrupting my work, but more to the point, it’s freaking me out.”

“She… what?”

“Look, I appreciate her letting us stay here. I do. She didn’t have to do that,” Raven emphasized. “But the last time we spoke to each other, she had be tied up to a tree and was cutting my arms. We’re not exactly friends, Clarke. I don’t know what kind of _arrangement_ you two have going on,” she added, the flair in her words betraying her suspicions, “but you need to stop avoiding it. I can’t keep playing personal middleman between you and the Commander. I’m nowhere near being ready for that.”

Clarke felt the familiar ache in her chest return. She’d gotten used to the reprieve during her self-imposed confinement, but eventually, she knew she would have to address things. The clans and her people would start arriving for the summit the day after tomorrow. After that, who knew what would happen?

“I’ll talk to her when she gets back tonight,” Clarke said. She nodded, mostly to reassure herself. “I promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Clarke had passed by Lexa’s room, she quickly talked herself out of her promise and had promptly returned to her own room, shutting herself back into the comfort of solitude.

On the second attempt, her hand hovered mere inches away from the door, but she never got around to knocking. Nerves had gotten the best of her yet again. She didn’t have any pretense for an impromptu visit. What would she even begin to say?

 _Raven asked me to see you so you_ _’d leave her alone._ That made it seem like Clarke was blaming her, which wasn’t true (and wasn’t what she wanted).

_I_ _’m ashamed at what my people did to yours. Even more so, I’m ashamed at the way I’ve treated you on their behalf when they didn’t deserve my loyalty._

Clarke rubbed her clenched fists against her eyes so roughly she could see bursts of light forming against the black curtain of her closed eyelids.

How hard was it to muster the courage to talk to someone she’d spoken with countless times in far more difficult and dangerous situations? It was just Lexa.

The hour was growing late, and most of the city was probably preparing for sleep. Clarke’s eyes roamed the room while she worried over her predicament. An inkling of a plan formed in her mind when they landed on her traveling bag. It still held some of the supplies Indra had given her back in Floudonkru. On a whim, Clarke shouldered it.

If Lexa had been speaking with Raven instead of Abby, she hadn’t had stitches removed. They were long overdue to be taken out, and knowing Lexa as she did, she was probably too stubborn to ask for assistance with them. She could at least offer to tend to them as an excuse for her visit, no matter how flimsy it was.

When she arrived at the opposite end of the long hallway separating their rooms, the soft glow of candlelight still flickered through the crack underneath Lexa’s door. The guard stationed outside her room spotted her, but paid her no attention once he saw her identity.

Clarke didn’t give herself any more time to hesitate; she held her breath and quickly rapped her knuckles against the wood, cringing at how impossibly loud it sounded in the otherwise silent corridor.

She wasn’t left waiting long, and when Lexa swung the door open, her breath came out in a single rush.

Gone were the battle accoutrements Clarke was accustomed to seeing: the pauldron, the dagger holsters attached to her thighs, the various pieces or armor that she interchanged depending on the occasion. Her war paint was wiped clean, and her hair was freshly washed, falling in loose waves over her shoulder. Her thin shirt clung to her body to her in all the right places.

By the widening of her green eyes and the way her mouth drifted ajar, it seemed that Clarke had been one of the last people she’d expected to see. Her fingers stayed firmly wrapped around the door’s handle even after the initial greeting.

“Clarke…” Her eyes drifted up and down her visitor, searching for some indication of the visit. When they landed on the bag, her expression worried into a frown, and her grip on the handle tightened. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Clarke said. Lexa’s glance turned disbelieving. “Nothing more than usual, at least.”

The answer seemed to mollify Lexa somewhat. Still, she made no indication of moving from the doorway, and it made Clarke anxious. “I see. Then to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lexa’s voice lilted up in anticipation.

It was the first time they’d seen or spoken to each other since the day of Clarke’s return. The magnitude of Clarke’s nerves were matched only by Lexa’s eagerness to see her. Clarke looked down at her bag instead; it seemed like the safest place for her eyes to be.

“It’s past time for your stitches to come out.” Clarke’s words came out in a rush. “I would have done it sooner, but—” She hesitated, eying the guard outside. Lexa was mostly healed from the injury, but it had been a closely guarded secret. She pressed on. “Anyways, if they stay in too long, they can get infected. With the medical supplies running low, that wouldn’t be a good thing.”

Lexa’s earnest expression fell, and she visibly deflated. The reason for Clarke’s visit hadn’t been what she’d hoped. “And that couldn’t wait until morning?”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

Lexa kept her eyes trained on Clarke for an immeasurable moment. Clarke could feel the intensity of her stare, and it was a struggle not to stare back at her. The candlelight danced against her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle temptingly.

“Very well,” Lexa said in a low voice. She stepped to the side, allowing Clarke a path. “Come inside.”

The layout of Lexa’s room was the mirror image of Clarke’s. The only notable difference was her balcony was about twice as wide and allowed a far more expansive view of the city. Her room was neat, though not elaborately decorated. The most personal touches in the room were the series of books spread across the drawing table.

Lexa interrupted Clarke’s survey when she arrived at her side with an inquisitive look. She stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do with herself.

Clarke glanced around the room. The sofa would give Lexa enough room to lie back so she could work, but Clarke would have no place to sit. She eyed the enormous bed by the balcony’s entrance and swallowed.

“You can lie down there if you want,” Clarke offered, gesturing to the bed.

Lexa gave a nod and instantly followed the request. She scooted herself far enough toward the center to allow Clarke to sit comfortably as the edge, before nesting her head against the fur covered pillows. As soon as Clarke perched herself beside her, Lexa worked her fingers into the fur blankets beneath her and started fidgeting.

Clarke could feel Lexa’s eyes bore into her while she gathered her supplies. When she finally met them, asking silently for permission, Lexa nodded, and as Clarke gently lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal the old injury, she felt Lexa’s body shudder beneath her.

A raised pink scar was all that blemished an otherwise flat, smooth abdomen. Only when Clarke looked closer could she see that the stitches had been in for a little too long, as they were starting to get inflamed.

During Clarke’s examination, Lexa stayed rigid, staring into the ceiling with her muscles all tensed. Bits of fur tore off the blanket from her vice-like grip.

“Try to relax, Lexa,” Clarke said, just as much to herself as to the girl in front of her. Thankfully, Lexa was too distracted to notice the slight tremor in her hand. “It’s not going to hurt unless you move.”

Lexa nodded, closing her eyes. It looked like it took all of her concentration to loosen her overwrought muscles.

Clarke tried unsuccessfully not to stare. With Lexa’s eyes closed, she was just grateful nobody else was around to witness it. Clarke focused on breathing normally and steadying her hands. When she was ready, she leaned forward to begin her work.

At the first touch, Lexa jumped slightly, causing Clarke to pull away like she’d been scalded.

“Sorry,” Lexa opened her eyes a fraction to meet Clarke’s before forcing them shut again. “Your hands are cold.”

Clarke disagreed, but she didn’t argue the point. After a pause, she tried again, moving more slowly than the last time. Lexa concentrated on staying still, and Clarke focused on keeping her traitorous hands steady.

The stitches came out easily. Lexa’s breathing became more regular, and she relaxed the longer Clarke’s hands worked over her.

Touching Lexa like this was a new experience. It wasn’t fueled by necessity or life-threatening emergency. Instead, it was strangely calm and intimate (though surprisingly not unpleasant). The longer her hands stayed in contact with Lexa’s smooth skin, the more noticeable the flutter settling into her lower abdomen. Clarke was well acquainted with that particular sensation, and she didn’t want to dwell too long on what it meant. She started to hurry, removing the mattress suturing with her miniature scissors and forceps as carefully as possible.

“All done,” Clarke announced as she pulled out the last stitch.

The scar would still fade and shrink over time, but it wasn’t in any danger of spontaneously reopening. Witnessing her recovery had been nothing short of miraculous.

“That was fast.” Lexa opened her eyes and sat up to examine Clarke’s handiwork. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

While Clarke determinedly put her supplies away, Lexa pushed herself to the edge of the mattress. She sat next to Clarke and remained still, leaving a respectable distance between them.

Neither of them moved or uttered a word long while, both staring out at the night sky through the open balcony. Somehow the warmth inside perfectly balanced the chill coming from the outside air. Both were unwilling to break whatever spell had brought them to this peaceful place.

Lexa hesitated to say anything that may unintentionally upset Clarke or send her away, and Clarke was nervous to finally give voice to her feelings. The stalemate couldn’t last forever; one of them had to give.

Clarke glanced sideways at Lexa’s profile, never having fully appreciated it before, and took a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, feeling like she was struggling to heave a two ton weight off her chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Clarke.”

“Yes I do.”

Lexa shook her head gently. “What your people did was not your fault. Whatever blame there is, you shouldn’t shoulder any of it.”

“It’s not just that,” Clarke said lowly. She looked down, hiding the pained expression on her face. She’d devoted so much energy trying to hate Lexa, and in the end, all it did was remind her that she still cared. She was determined to not run away anymore.

Lexa watched her carefully. “Oh?”

“I spent months being mad at you for betraying our alliance and abandoning me. For not saving my people, like you did yours. And now…” Clarke’s voice cracked. She stopped until she was certain it wouldn’t happen again. “Now, after all the death they’ve caused, I’m not sure if saving them was the right decision.

“I’m a hypocrite,” Clarke went on in disgust. “I betrayed my people’s alliance with the Mountain Men when I pulled that lever. And had our situations been reversed—had I been offered a peaceful retreat in exchange for my people’s safety—I would have done the exact same thing you did. I punished you for it, and it wasn’t fair.”

Unbridled concern spread across Lexa’s features. She’d known the pain Clarke felt many times over. Every time she’d sacrificed a bit of herself for her people, only to have her efforts thrown back in her face, was the worst kind of pain any leader could face. Judging from the look in her eyes, if Lexa could spare Clarke that pain, she would have done so in a heartbeat. But she couldn’t.

“I’ve revisited that night countless times in my head,” Lexa said gently, “wondering if there was any way the night could’ve played differently.”

“And?”

“Every alternative ended in my people dying. As soon as the first battle objective failed, setting the army loose on the inside, there was no way around it. I wanted there to have been another way, something that maybe I had overlooked, but there wasn’t. There was no right choice—only bad consequences.” She looked at Clarke with sad eyes, some of her hair falling forward into her face. “I can’t apologize for the decision I made, but I can apologize for the way that it affected you. Causing you pain was never my intention, Clarke.”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“You do?” Lexa sounded cautiously hopeful, and Clarke remembered that the last time they’d had a similar discussion, she’d completely blown off her attempts at explanation.

Clarke nodded. “You belong to your people. They’ll always be your priority. It was unfair of me to presume otherwise.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel hurt by it, Clarke.”

“No, but it means that I _shouldn_ _’t_. I need to be able to stay objective, no matter what. Head over heart.” She sighed deeply. “Love is weakness, right?”

“There used to be a time when I didn’t believe that.”

“But then she died,” Clarke recalled. It was difficult to imagine Lexa as she may have been before the world turned burdened her with the pain of a hundred lifetimes.

Lexa swallowed thickly, and suddenly she looked more vulnerable than Clarke had ever seen her. “I loved my people first, and then I loved Costia. Ultimately, there came a time when I had to betray one to save the other. It nearly destroyed me. As a leader, it’s risk I swore I would never take again.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make it a weakness,” Clarke pointed out.

Lexa eyed her skeptically, but she didn’t argue further.

Instead she turned her head toward the night sky in front of them, where the nearly full moon hung bright in the sky, and the stars surrounding it shone above the line of buildings and trees beyond.

After ten minutes of comfortable silence, a faint flickering light passed across the horizon. Clarke recognized the last remnants of Alpha station, which were still hurtling in orbit, undeterred by the lack of oxygen aboard the empty vessel. Solar energy would keep it within Earth’s pull for years to come.

“Do you ever wish you could go back to your home? To the way things were before?” Lexa asked suddenly, still watching the space station finish its course.

Surprisingly enough, Clarke didn’t even have to think twice about the answer. “No. Coming to Earth had always been the ultimate goal. I always imagined what it would be like, looking at the books, and trying to reconcile it with the dreams in my head at night.”

“Did it fulfill your expectations?”

Clarke grinned. “Some things exceeded them, actually. Other things I would have done without.”

Lexa caught on to her levity, and the tiniest hint of a smile played at her lips. “Such as?”

“Definitely pauna,” Clarke joked, earning a soft chuckle from Lexa. When the laughter died down, Clarke’s tone grew serious again. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so harsh on the ground. Wells, and Charlotte, and Finn…” Clarke shook her head at the memories that took them all away. “The terrible part is that sometimes, I think it’s better they all died when they did. At least that way, they never had to witness the kind of monsters we became.”

Even Finn’s crime of slaughtering eighteen unarmed villagers seemed tame compared to some of the atrocities Clarke and her people had committed. She’d scolded him for his heartlessness, and now, she was no better. The rest of people were even less innocent.

Lexa had never known any of the loved ones Clarke had lost, only that she had cared for them dearly and they still haunted her. She sat quietly, unsure how to respond.

Clarke looked back at Lexa. “What about you?” she asked, changing the subject. “Would you go back to the way things were before?”

“Had I not ascended as Heda and come to Polis, neither I nor my people would have ever known peace,” Lexa answered. “I would have found myself immersed in war and known loss regardless.” She was pensive for a moment. “I wish the world itself was different, perhaps.”

“Me too.”

Alpha station disappeared at the far end of the horizon to continue its course beyond their vision.

“What did it look like from your home?” Lexa asked.

Clarked frowned. “What did what look like?”

“Earth.”

The image never faded from Clarke’s memory; the sight had been one of her favorite parts of living in space, but she had difficulty finding words for the rich blues and greens, and the way the clouds swirled elegantly across its surface. The picture was forever etched into her memory.

“I can’t describe it. Just—beautiful,” she said. “I’ll have to paint it for you some day.”

“I would like that.” Lexa nodded and smiled.

“You know, when we first landed, it always surprised me that the stars didn’t look that different from the Earth.”

“They don’t?”

Clarke shook her head. “We could see more of them from space, but they all looked exactly as they do here. Some of these constellations I’ve heard stories about since I was little.” Clarke gestured to the sky in front of them. “It’s a little weird, navigating with them. I never had to do that before, obviously.”

Lexa stared thoughtfully at the stars with Clarke. Star navigation was a necessary skill for anyone hoping to travel during night time, so Lexa had already learned the fixtures in her own region.

“There are stories that go with the stars?” Lexa sounded both intrigued and amused by the idea.

“Some of them were kind of stupid,” Clarke admitted, “but yes.”

“I never knew that.” She bit her lip nervously. “Would you tell me one?”

“Seriously?”

Lexa nodded.

Clarke was taken aback. She was struck by how normal their conversation felt. It wasn’t forced, and it didn’t bother her at all. The trepidation she’d felt earlier now seemed foolish.

“Okay,” Clarke said, unable to begrudge such a simple request.

She scanned the open sky. To her right she easily saw Ursa Minor; it contained Polaris, which she was certain Lexa already knew about. She looked to her left, finding another that she’d become acquainted with since her time on the ground.

The Northern Crown: the path leading straight into the heart of the Ice Nation.

“You see that one right there?” Clarke pointed out the balcony at her chosen star, Alphecca. “The one that points right at Azgeda?” she clarified, in case there was any confusion.

“I know of it,” Lexa nodded. She looked back to Clarke with rapt attention.

“A long time ago, legend says there was a princess named Ariadne. She was desperately in love with a warrior named Theseus, but one day, her father—the king—ordered for her love to be sacrificed to one of the king’s monsters that was locked away in a deep, scary labyrinth.”

“What happened?” Lexa asked, intrigued.

“Because they loved each other, Ariadne and Theseus made a deal together to help him escape. She gave him her crown, which lit the dark passageways, and a long thread to wind behind him so he wouldn’t get lost. After he defeated the monster and escaped, they sailed off together with Theseus’s army. Then, when he was threatened by another war, he abandoned her on the island and sailed away, never to be seen again.” Clarke paused, passing a quick glance at Lexa. “The grief from it nearly destroyed her.”

Lexa wordlessly dropped her gaze from the stars onto the floor.

“Nobody really knows what happened to Ariadne after that,” Clarke continued. “Some people say that she hanged herself afterward. Others say that she was rescued by one of the gods himself. Whatever her fate, the legend goes that the gods had the jewels from her crown cast into the skies to commemorate her act of heroism.”

Lexa silently digested the story she’d heard for several moments.

“Clarke…” her voice sounded uneasy. “No offense, but that is the worst story I think I’ve ever heard.”

Something about the simple honesty of her statement and the indignation at the story caused giggles to erupted from Clarke’s throat. The unexpected sound caused a full smile to spread across Lexa’s cheeks.

It was her first actual smile Clarke had ever seen, and it was breathtaking. Yet all too soon, it was gone, relaxing into a quietly contented expression. Clarke wished she’d had a pencil and paper handy to capture the moment.

The loss of the image reminded Clarke where she was and the chaos around them. The lightness of the moment vanished, replaced by an all too familiar sense of foreboding.

“I guess war ruins all the best stories, doesn’t it?” Clarke asked, almost to herself. “War kills everybody, even the ones who live.”

“I suppose it does.”

“Does it ever get easier?”

Lexa understood the unspoken part of the question without her even asking it. As leaders, they would continue to sacrifice bits and pieces of themselves in the fight for their people’s future. They would repeatedly ask their friends and families to die for them. Clarke hoped that one day, she wouldn’t have to constantly fight for survival. Yet she’d been on the ground less than a year, and that was all she’d known. It was hard to imagine anything different.

“I used to think I could win peace by the blade of my sword. If I lead my people to victory, protected them, and respected them as equals, that we could have unity,” Lexa explained. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she revisited the memories. “But all we gained was the illusion of peace. The best we’re allowed is the brief reprieve after the smoke clears, when the winners and losers reflect on their failures and vow never to repeat them again. Then sometime later, their pain and promises are forgotten, and a new generation repeats the same mistakes as their forebears—again, and again, and again. Now I think maybe the best we can hope for is that the period in between lasts long enough to make something meaningful from the ruins.”

“That’s pretty fatalistic.”

“I wish it were different, but I can only speak to my past experiences, Clarke. In a hundred years, my people have known less than a decade of peace,” she said with a sigh. “Though I obviously can’t speak to what the future holds.”

“What do you _think_ will happen now?”

There was a long pause before Lexa answered. Too many variables remained outstanding. What would the clans decide at the summit? Would those still in the alliance continue to show their loyalty after the news of Tondc? The events unfolding in the next few days would irrevocably shape everyone’s future.

Eventually, Lexa answered: “The only thing I know is that this war will get uglier…” She glanced over the edge of the balcony, where her people slept in the buildings below, before looking back to Clarke. “… And I need you.”

“I’m right here. We’re still on the same side,” Clarke assured her. Their situation felt oddly reminiscent of the last time they’d worked together. If the world hadn’t fallen into tumult, the last she would have seen of Lexa would have been the night she turned her back and walked away from the battle. Her voice grew quiet and she stared blankly into the night sky outside. “The only thing I worry about is what happens when you decide you don’t need me anymore.”

Cautious fingertips grazed the back of Clarke’s wrist. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the Lexa didn’t know if Clarke would accept it after everything that had happened between them. Her touch was feather light, almost asking for permission, and she was ready to withdraw it at a second’s notice.

Clarke glanced down at it. Instead of shrinking away from the contact, turned her hand over and fit Lexa’s hand into hers. Her hand was warmer and softer than it looked, and the contact _was_ comforting, which was surprising.

Lexa stared at the place where their palms pressed together, as if it were the most fascinating sight in the world.

When she finally looked back up to Clarke, there was wonder in her eyes. “I can’t make any guarantees. My decisions have to be made with my head, not my heart.” She gave Clarke’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But know that no matter what my people _need_ , there will never be a time when I don’t _want_ you around.”

When Clarke’s eyes roamed over Lexa’s face in the flickering candlelight, they involuntarily landed on her lips. The familiar fluttering deep in her belly returned, only this time, it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. Clarke wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it. Without thinking, she leaned in closer. Her eyes stayed focused, unwavering.

Lexa was too shocked to move. Her eyes fluttered shut at the last possible moment, and Clarke felt the catch of her breath against her lips as they brushed together. The sensation was heady, and overwhelming. _Perfect_.

All too soon, they pulled apart.

Lexa was dazed, and even Clarke was shocked by her own boldness. Even though she hadn’t planned the kiss, she wasn’t about to apologize for it. But Clarke’s mind was still racing, and the rediscovered feelings were too much to bear for now. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, more rational thought emerged.

She squeezed Lexa’s hand one last time, and stood up from the bed. “I should go, it’s getting late.”

The words were enough to draw Lexa out of her haze. She scrambled to her feet with comical speed. “Thank you,” she said, and at Clarke’s quizzical expression, she added, “for speaking to me. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

Clarke nodded. It really hadn’t been at first, but it would be much easier in the future. “Reshop, Lexa.”

Lexa gently touched the corner of her bottom lip with her fingertips, where she still felt the lingering tingle from their kiss. A small grin started to form as Clarke walked away.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken nearly the full two weeks to ready Polis for the summit. In less than twenty-four hour’s time, councils representing the remaining clans (Worgedakru was now under Azgeda’s rule) would be arriving for an official summit that would be held the following morning.

The debris had been cleared, and the freezing rain had helped wash away a great deal of the soot that coated the northern and southern wings of the city. They could never remove all the evidence of the massacre, but it was passable. For the first time in weeks, the city finally looked alive again.

The work had been a test of Lexa’s returning strength, and with the raising of the flags of the remaining allies above the tower, the return to normalcy felt something like validation. Whatever happened in the coming weeks and months, Polis—and by extension, Lexa—had already survived the worst.

Lexa returned to the tower that evening from her last day of hard work, rosy cheeked and still sore from exertion. Despite the lingering undercurrent of uncertainty surrounding Lexa and her people, it was hard not to feel just a little buoyant at the way matters were starting to progress. She’d shared the news with Clarke this morning after seeing her up and about for the first time in days and could barely contain her excitement. After their conversation from the night before and the kiss they shared—Lexa blushed every time she remembered, which had been more times than she could count—Lexa was cautiously optimistic.

Shortly before she turned in for the evening, she’d received word that from a Hongeda messenger that their convoy had departed and would be arriving around midday. The more remote clans would be sending smaller delegations, but all were set to attend.

For the first time since Lexa forged the coalition, the clans were divided, and a full meeting would be held between their non-united people. The fact that enemy clan leaders would be harbored in the neutral capital city introduced all sorts of logistical complications. Putting distance between the enemy clans and increasing the street patrol was paramount.

Her mind was too busy racing through plans for tomorrow to notice the lack of guards stationed outside the tower’s lift, the spiral staircase leading to the jettied top section of the tower, or outside her room. She’d never been one to pay them much attention—never needed to—but on an ordinary day, she would have at least registered their absence. This night, she was distracted. She opened her door without thinking, and an unwelcome, though not unfamiliar presence was waiting for when she stepped inside.

Lexa’s feet froze as her door clicked shut. A haggard man stood before her. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Within seconds, her shock gave way to disgust, and her face contorted into a scowl.

“Titus,” she growled.

The balding man stood from where he’d been waiting on her sofa. He made to approach her, but stopped at the unspoken warning in her eyes. “Heda,” he greeted lowly.

Once proud, even arrogant, he looked as if all his fortunes had since left him. His clothes were tattered, and he sported a mix of fresh and old bruises and cuts all over his body. He’d been fighting, both recently and in the last few weeks.

Lexa narrowed his eyes at him. “For the sake of your own life, I hope that you did not harm my guards.”

“They aren’t dead,” Titus said. “They are, however, locked inside the kitchen stores in the basement.”

Lexa clenched her hands into fists. “And what of your weapons?”

Titus gave her an exasperated look. “I know the statutes of the capitol. I wouldn’t be so foolish as to break the laws here without authorization.”

“ _Now_ you care about authority,” Lexa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yet you were so foolish as to betray the alliance, favoring the leadership of a known despot. Don’t start lecturing me about your intelligence when you’ve shown yourself to have none.” To emphasize her point, she retrieved her dagger from where it was stored in her wardrobe, letting it hang effortlessly in her hand. If the situation called for it, Lexa’s throw was deadly, and one wrong move from Titus would spell out his demise. Her long index finger caressed the handle menacingly. “How did you pass our scouts’ territory undetected?”

“The same way you had Costia sneak away from her duty assignments in Worgedakru so many years ago,” Titus said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The underground.”

Lexa gaped at him. Nobody, not even Anya, Indra, or Gustus, knew how far the tunnels beneath Polis reached. They formed a winding complex maze that could trap even the most intelligent person if they weren’t familiar with its layout. She couldn’t fathom how Titus had discovered her secret.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Titus went on. “It was my job to know what my niece was up to, especially if it endangered our alliance and our people.”

“ _Our_ people?” Lexa countered. “You didn’t care if you endangered _our_ people when you marched them to war against each other, did you? Did you not see the havoc your uprising brought upon _our_ people?”

Titus had the good sense to look shamefaced at the reminder. When his head tilted down toward the floor, the bruises underneath his eyes seemed even darker than before.

“Why are you even here?” Lexa pressed him. “And I want the truth. Judging by your injuries, it doesn’t look like your passage was as easy as you’ve claimed.”

“I came to warn you.”

“And why would you do that? Do your allies know you’re here, or were they the ones that sent you?” She lifted her dagger in a readied attack position, causing Titus to raise his hands in supplication.

“I am in nobody’s alliance any longer,” Titus admitted, his voice dropping in volume. “And I no longer belong to a clan. The Maungedakru council has overthrown me from my position.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You may believe what you wish,” Titus shrugged. “Queen Nia has placed a bounty on my head, among others. I have escaped execution to this point, but her agents are everywhere.”

“With a war on the horizon, I wouldn’t expect her to place execution orders on her own allies.”

“I disagreed with some of her latest… tactics. When I expressed my concerns, it was taken as a challenge. She sent that brother of hers to kill me, and I’ve been on the run ever since.”

“You knew they would attack Trikru with the Sky People,” Lexa said, horrified.

“I didn’t agree with it, Heda,” Titus implored, but that didn’t matter, not to Lexa.

“You were the one to turn your back on this alliance in the first place!” Lexa shouted. Had there been guards outside, they surely would have come knocking on her door to investigate the commotion. “You didn’t have any misgivings about marching into this city and slaughtering my people! You didn’t care about sacking Worgedakru or assassinating Eva! So why is it—” she gripped her knife and marched right up to her uncle, thrusting her face into his, “—that you all of a sudden _cared_ about the destruction you were causing?!”

Lexa could only see blood-red. She could feel her pulse rushing in her ears, but still she forced her breaths to remain even. She refused to give in, briefly closing her eyes and focusing on regaining her composure. Within seconds, the flare from her temper had cooled, though contempt still simmered in her veins.

Titus flinched away from her, but after that, he simply looked sad. That only pissed Lexa off more. He had no right to be sad; he’d willingly and knowingly brought this upon all of them. He’d made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences.

Her uncle was afraid to speak for the longest time. Only when Lexa backed away and lowered her dagger did he dare say another word.

“When you were first chosen as Heda, I was so proud,” Titus whispered. “I knew shortly after you started training that you would be special. And of course, as soon as you ascended, you started to forge the kind of empire that your predecessors could have only dreamed of. Victory by victory, creating peace through strength and necessary sacrifice.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes at him, but she kept the dagger in her hand. “Then why would you betray this alliance—why betray me?”

“Because the warrior I knew would never have turned her back on the battlefield while the enemy still drew breath. I was not the only one wondering where our fearless, powerful leader had gone. To be Heda is to stare into the face of death and fight until death is conquered. There was widespread talk that the commander’s spirit had left you.”

“And is that what you believe?”

“It is what I had to accept,” Titus admitted. “The grievances given to me were detailed and thorough. It didn’t bring me pleasure, but I couldn’t refute the arguments my council placed before me.”

“Did you also agree with your council that Queen Nia would be a more suitable replacement as Heda?”

Titus turned his eyes away guiltily. He’d seen Lexa through the forging of their coalition, and he knew the kind of havoc Azgeda would cause if Nia was left unchecked. The expression on his face was almost an answer in itself.

“There was no appealing alternative,” Titus muttered. “I knew it was a risk when I agreed to the plan, but I had assumed—maybe stupidly—that Maungedakru could withdraw if the situation grew untenable. I fear Nia’s most recent indiscretions herald a plan far more sinister than either of us can imagine.”

“Your position within the Conclave has made you arrogant, but it doesn’t make you the foremost expert on leadership, Titus,” Lexa reproached him.

His shoulders slumped forward, and his posture shrank. “I know that now, Heda.”

Lexa started pacing her room, putting more distance between herself and her uncle. Despite the misgivings he supposedly had about his charge, he’d only returned as a supplicant after a bounty had been placed on his head. Polis was literally his last option; that didn’t suggest remorse, only desperation.

He couldn’t be trusted. Not with the precarious state of Lexa’s remaining alliance.

Lexa replaced her dagger in her wardrobe before returning to Titus. She left the drawing table in between them as a barrier. He visibly relaxed once she disarmed herself. It didn’t make much of a difference to her; if she needed to fight, she could kill him just as easily using her bare hands.

“What did you come to warn me about?” Lexa asked.

“Rifgedakru plans to be first delegation to arrive tomorrow,” Titus said. “Knox will bring ten from his council at first light, as well as twenty from his personal guard.”

“He was invited—that’s hardly a warning. Everyone is due to arrive tomorrow.”

“Yes, well his will be the only rebel clan in attendance,” he countered, causing Lexa’s confidence to falter. “The others have already left on their search for this weapon. I understand that the last Maunon is to be their guide.”

“Emerson,” Lexa hissed.

“I believe that was his name, yes.”

“Then why isn’t Knox joining them?”

Titus glanced at Lexa with a concerned expression, and it was the most sincere he’d looked since his arrival. It filled her with a sense of dread. “Because I’m not the only one with a price on my head,” Titus revealed. “He means to capture or assassinate you upon the welcoming ceremony. Nia is offering double the reward if you’re captured alive.”

The cleverness of the plan irritated Lexa. Since its existence, the capitol at Polis had always had strict edicts banning weapons inside all official chambers. With a full guard standing by, and multiple witnesses present, the rule had never been openly flouted, even in the most acrimonious stages of their history.

Due to circumstances outside of Lexa’s control, there would be few witnesses from other clans, and the guard would be significantly depleted. They wouldn’t be granted admission with their swords and axes, but a smaller weapon, something that could be concealed under a shirt or inside a boot, could easily slip past anybody’s notice. It was considered undignified to strip search esteemed guests.

On the other hand, if _Lexa_ was discovered sneaking a weapon into official chambers even for her own protection, she would be violating her own statutes. If (or rather, _when_ ) she was arrested, she would be at the mercy of the aggrieved: Knox and his crew. It would be tantamount to a death sentence.

“You should know… Nia has placed similar orders for the capture of Wanheda,” Titus continued. Lexa stiffened, and a chill ran down her spine. “I’ve heard rumors that she remains in Polis. Is there any truth to these reports?”

“Where Clarke is or is not staying is none of your concern.” Lexa forced her voice to remain steady, despite suddenly feeling sick to hr stomach. “Rest assured, I will see to it that she receives the message.”

Titus watched her reaction carefully. The way she writhed her fingers, and the slight furrow of her brow when she’d heard the news about Clarke didn’t escape his notice. He’d known Lexa long enough to recognize the familiar signs.

Dawning realization filled his eyes. He seemed at once troubled and fascinated by the discovery. “I see…” he mused. “I hope that the news of Wanheda doesn’t distract you.”

Lexa felt suddenly self conscious under his stare, and she retreated back to her perfectly impartial mask. The brief weakness she’d shown was hidden underneath her impenetrable armor.

“I presume that is the extent of your report?” Lexa changed the subject. He’d clearly intended to exchange intelligence for leniency, so she rightly guessed he would try to spill every secret he had for his own life.

“It is,” Titus said, straightening his posture. A hopeful expression grew on his face. “In that case, will I be allowed sanctuary in Polis, Heda?”

Lexa shook her head. If the transgressions were severe enough, even familial bonds could be broken beyond repair.

“No. You will leave Polis now, just as you came.” She gestured to the door behind her, and his face fell. She ignored her uncle’s despondence. “Safe journeys on your travels, Titus. Wherever that may be.”

Titus took a moment to collect himself. His panicked, ragged breaths normalized quickly, and he regained some semblance of composure. Now that he was ousted from Polis, his days were numbered. He was a proud man, but he was still a warrior. He would fight his death until he was no longer capable.

Titus had nearly reached the door when Lexa called to him on a whim. She didn’t turn around, staring ahead into the opposite wall.

A suspicion had nagged at the back of her mind for years, though she’d always been hesitant to voice it, fearing dredging up a past that was better left buried. Once he left, she wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask again.

“It was you that gave her up to Nia, wasn’t it?” Lexa asked.

“Gave who up?”

She swallowed painfully, closing her eyes and clenching her fists. “Costia.”

Titus knew better than to approach her. Lexa didn’t have to see him with her eyes to imagine his anguish. He had always been reticent to discuss emotions, considering them unbefitting a warrior. His prolonged silence spoke volumes.

His voice was exceedingly gentle when he said: “Do you think it would bring you peace if you knew?”

Lexa had already cried her tears for Costia. Her wounds had healed into scars. She already knew the most important facts: Costia was long gone, and Nia killed her. No amount of crusading could ever undo the injustice she’d faced. It would only bring her more pain in the long run.

“Probably not,” Lexa answered in a small voice. “Goodbye Titus.”

“Goodbye, Lexa,” he said. “I know you don’t think much of my judgment… But no matter what happens, I think your mother would have been proud.”

When the door clicked open, Lexa turned around one last time to watch him leave, knowing it would be the last time she ever saw him. Titus held his chin high and didn’t look back.

She would learn several days later that he died before ever witnessing another sunrise.

 


End file.
